A Very English Scandal
by Moment For Life
Summary: Set amongst English Society in 1800, Rose DeWitt is a Lady's daughter about to be introduced to the London Elite for the first time, she catches the eyes of Lord Hockley but will theirs be a perfect match?
1. Chapter 1

**A VERY ENGLISH SCANDAL.**

 **Just to set the scene, this entire story is set in London around 1800. All characters inc Jack/Rose/Ruth and Cal are English, their story will unfold as the chapters go on, so I only hope that you bare with me. Their accents would have been very posh and formal!**

 **This is a story which I wrote involving other characters and has since become picked up by a publishing house. This version is the original but rewritten to fit Titanic characters.**

 **It is a long story, a complicated tale and one which I hope you come to enjoy :)**

 **Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think!**

* * *

 **Chapter one,**

 **London, 1800.**

''Just look at her,'' Lord Harrington lowered his voice as he narrowed his blue, squinted eyes. His mouse brown hair was slicked back in a fashionable style. He hadn't donned a wig, as some males did, preferring the feel of air through his locks. His brown and cream tailored coat felt tight against his wider frame.

''Indeed.'' Lord Hockley allowed his dark eyes to sweep over the vision of Rose DeWitt. She stood centre of the room at the manse of the Lord and Lady Peckham at yet another of their galas. Her Mother would no doubt be about, keeping a close eye upon her only young daughter who was attending her first gala in Society. She had been seen discreetly at others, but this evening was the first time she was out in the open for the first time in her young life and like prey, she was already hunted by the hungry men pining. Not just for a wife, but her.

''That red hair would be enough to drive any man to his knees.''

''And her flamed hair is the reason you ogle her so openly when you are betrothed to Amelia?'' Lord Hockley arched his brow to his oldest friend, in an amused tone, knowing how he would retaliate to the mention of his new fiancée.

''Yes.''

''So, the swell of her bosom does not wish for you to change your mind of the engagement to the very lithe Lord Ware's daughter.'' Lord Hockley chuckled, knowing just how to get under his friends' skin. ''One only knows what treasures lay beneath that corset.''

''Don't be absurd.'' Lord Harrington glanced away from the young girl. She hadn't even been formally been introduced to English Society yet and rumour had it she was no more than ten and eight. ''For God's sake, she is younger than my sister.'' He shook his head, discarding indecent thoughts and concentrated on the brandy which he held in his hand. Amelia was lovely enough; pretty with delicate features and yes, wasn't as buxom as Rose DeWitt but he had always a preference for the slimmer girl. She would do him just fine. _Fine._

''Of course. Just how is your sister? I haven't seen her since before I left for the States. I hear she is to be wed within the month.''

''Yes. A love match by all accounts.'' Lord Harrington rolled his eyes rudely so that only Lord Hockley could see the gesture.

''How-romantic.'' He grinned above his glass of brandy, revealing pearly white teeth. ''Who is the lucky fellow?''

''The youngest son of the Marquess and Marchioness Dewsbury. Very polite young man. Of course, they are not as rich as my Mother had hoped Cecilia to wed but as soon as he set his cap at her, she went running.''

''As soon as a young girls heart flutters, that is it I am afraid.'' Lord Hockley narrowed his dark eyes, glancing about the room in a sweeping motion before returning to Lord Harrington. ''Too much time spent reading romantic novels if one asks me.''

''Of course. But I am pleased for her. Infants will follow very soon after the marriage I fair. Enough to occupy my little sisters mind and then I shall worry less of her welfare.''

''Indeed. I must say, I am glad that I have no siblings to worry after. It makes my life easier in many ways.''

Lord Harrington examined the indecent way in which his friend ogled the young Miss DeWitt. Caledon Hockley was twenty-seven years of age. The only son of Lord and Lady Hockley, the latter has passed some months previous. His father was nearing the end of his life it was feared and so, it was assumed that Caledon would be taking a wife before the year is out in order to produce the needed heirs to continue their lineage. In the score years in which Lord Harrington had known Caledon, the young women had always fallen into his bed; he wasn't too picky either. Whorehouses knew his first name. He had cavorted with widows. Bedded the wives of the wealthy before destroying their husbands and leaving them with nothing and so Society would shun them. ''That's just business.'' He would always say with that same cocky grin. He was a handsome man with jet black hair which fell to the nape of his neck, tied into a neat ribbon, dark eyes and a tan to his skin which had darkened since his return from the States. His reputation as a rogue hadn't diminished and so women would watch his every move, hoping that now more than ever he would take them as his much-needed wife. The need to tame the wild rogue lingered in their innocent stomachs.

''Just why is she dancing with that sap?'' Caledon shook his head as he shoved his glass at a nearby servant in a wordless urge for them to refill it.

Lord Harrington glanced to see her dancing with a young gentleman whom he failed to recognise. Her body swayed gently, not missing one step. The corseted high waist of her pure white dress ensured that her full breasts were on display. Fire flared in Caledon's eyes. She was...so pure.

''Just who is it?''

''Do you not remember that blasted man? Lord Sedgewick. He spends just too much time in the gambling house.''

Lord Harrington suppressed a laugh.

''Whatever is the matter, Hugh?''

The servant returned with a warmed brandy and Caledon accepted it without even looking. His breeches were uncomfortably tight and it wasn't from the wrong fit of clothing.

''I think you may have a small tendre for Miss. Dewitt.''

''Stuff.'' Caledon fell serious. He glanced over at the other ladies in attendance.. _.Lady Savage. No, too broad. Lady Julienne. No, too rat looking. Lady Harvey..._ He cocked his head to one side, to examine her fine curves. He shook his head. ''No, absolutely not.''

The suggestion was ludicrous. He was just a red-blooded male who appreciated the female form.

Hugh nodded to a gentleman who had just arrived. ''Excuse me, a moment, I must go pay my respects to Lady Whitmore.''

''Yes. Of course.''

Hugh left Caledon alone. In the vast room of attractive men and women, she was the only one which he saw. Her vibrancy dwarfed the rest of them entirely. With blood red curls piled atop her head in a present fashion, a few strands framed her face. Her face wasn't too powered or filled with rouge, just a red lip which he had wanted kiss from the moment he had laid eyes upon her.

''Damnation.'' He whispered to himself. She had to be the one. With his father's failing health, he knew that he must take a bride and very soon. If he had to choose a woman with whom to bear his name and children, then he would have the very best. He would have **her.**

As the current dance came to a close, Lord Sedgewick smoothly kissed her gloved hand, her lashes batted at the young man before he left her alone in the vast ballroom once more. Caledon finished the rest of the brandy and he was at her side within seconds. A quick gasp escaped her pretty lips and as he took in the sight and smell of her up close. He was truly bewitched. His eyes rested firmly above her chest. How swollen it was for such a young age. He dismissed those thoughts and concentrated on wooing the lady.

''My fair lady, I should like to dance with you.'' He held out his bare hand to hers and she raised a delicate eyebrow. Her face up close was like that of an angel but buried beneath the exterior, he would bring out the Devil in her.

''Is that right, Mr-''

''Hockley, Lord Hockley.'' He offered.

''Quite. The very infamous Lord Hockley.'' Her sea blue eyes twinkled with such mischief beneath thick, black lashes. ''I am sorry, but this set was reserved for Lord Gardener.''

Caledon craned his neck over the sea of people in an exaggerated manner. ''I'm sorry, my lady. But he doesn't seem to be about to claim his dances.''

''Perhaps, he has been held up momentarily.'' She fired back, pausing to glance at the handsome Lord Hockley. Caledon took note of her stares and inwardly smiled. She was interested. Her tongue was sharp, he liked that. In marriage, one would need something besides bedsport to keep a man occupied. He enjoyed bantering with his friends at the clubs he attended nightly but perhaps this would keep him at home longer in the evenings.

''What fellow would become so tangled in a conversation with others when he knew that he was to dance with a beauty like you.''

Tinges of pinks coloured her lovely cheeks. ''Oh, Lord Hockley.''

''Call me, Caledon.'' He urged quietly. The need to be more intimate with her curled in his stomach.

''I am afraid I cannot. We are not fully acquainted and nor is it proper to do so.'' Innocence shone through her body right from her head to the tips of her toes. She backed away from him slightly, before Society took note of their intimacy. She knew just how the predators watched from afar just dying to ruin people with just slight snippets of gossip which they could turn into vile rumours, spewing from the mouths of all Society.

''Save the next set for me, then.'' He urged. ''I am an excellent dancer, if that is a note on your list of wants in a suitor.''

''It is. I am spoken for all evening, Lord Hockley.'' She told him, quietly but confidently. ''But, thank you for the offer.''

He wanted to grasp onto her tiny but curved body in that very moment and dance with her. He wanted to feel her body move next to his and sweep her around the floor so that every eye in the room watched as they burned with jealousy. She bowed her head in a farewell but he couldn't allow her to leave in that second. He needed more.

''My lady.'' His voice stopped her trail of walk. She paused two steps away from him.

''Yes, my lord.'' She slowly turned to him. ''You do know, that I am not a Lady? Lady DeWitt is my Mother.'' She smiled, sweetly. ''I do not yet wear such a title.''

''You will be _my_ lady. That much I promise you.'' His voice was low, almost a growl. He knew his effect on women, and not just because he was blessed with his Father's handsome looks and his Mother's dark features. ''I will call on you this week, once I have conversed with your Mother. I would like to dance every dance with you and for no other man to even look at you without knowing that you will be mine.''

She was breathless. That much he knew. Her dry lips had parted, the closer he grew. He wondered if the poor young girl knew just what intentions he had towards her. It wasn't a want, it was a need. A primitive need to take her virginity and keep her for himself. No man would touch her that way, he would make sure of it. The thought of it angered him in a way he never deemed would be possible.

''And what say do I have in this?'' She clutched her reticule to her waist. A sign of her nerves.

Caledon smiled, bearing perfect white teeth as he straightened up.

''My fair lady, the flush in your face tells me exactly what I need to know.'' He noted that Lord Gardener approached from the double French doors from outside. From the spring in his step, Caledon knew he had just finished tumbling with some unfortunate chit.

''And, what is that exactly?''

Caledon stepped away as Lord Gardener was a couple of feet away from them, interrupting their moment. She noted his appearance and straightened her back immediately, sweeping away any evidence from the contents of her conversation with Lord Hockley.

''Good evening, my lord.'' She curtseyed to Lord Gardener.

''Miss. Rose.'' He lowered to a bow.

Lord Gardener glanced at Caledon as though he was an elephant in a room of people. The flush of his cheeks amused Caledon no end, he tucked away his smirk.

''Forgive me, I was caught up in the garden. The terrace is just breath-taking this evening.''

''Of course. Lord Hockley here was keeping me abreast of his recent trip to the United States.'' Miss. Rose glanced hesitantly to Caledon, hoping he would keep up with her small lie in order to keep their conscious momentarily clear.

''Yes. I was regaling just how wonderful my travels had been.'' He gestured with a flick of his hand. ''Although, the tale would have been preferable to be told whilst taking Miss. Rose here for a set but she has informed me that you were to belong to you, my lord.''

''Thank you.'' Lord Gardener nodded his fair head to Rose. He was handsome, not overly but sweet enough. ''As I said, I was-''

''Tumbling in the garden with the youngest daughter of Earl Winchester.'' Caledon finished for him. ''I saw the flush of her cheeks as you both entered the ballroom together.''

Lord Gardener opened his mouth to speak but nothing escaped other than a stumbling of vowels. Miss. Rose's eyes widened, as she realised that there was no denial from the Lord Gardener and his fair features reddened even more so.

''Oh, my.'' She placed a gloved hand to her chest. She had not prepared herself for the notion it could possibly be true. ''Lord Gardener!'' She cried, in a scolding manner.

''Well, good night all.''

Lord Caledon Hockley left behind a scattering of mess wherever he went. He was known to be a scoundrel but outing Lord Gardener to the innocence of Rose DeWitt was one of the most amusing moments he had endured in a long time.

He was glad to be home from the States. His next move would be vital in securing himself a wife. He refused to take no for an answer and Rose DeWitt would be his. There would be no doubt about that.

 _The next morning,_

 _The Dewitt mansion._

''Oh, my, what a fright that must have been to hear.'' Trudy Bolt, Rose's closest confident and abigail held her tiny hands across her mouth. ''And for the Lord to not deny the case at all. Shame on him.''

Rose admittedly had been initially shocked at the way the story unravelled, but after thinking on it a little, she was more than curious as to what the _tumbling_ had been...

''Perhaps it was just a peck.'' She offered Trudy innocently as she was helped out of her night rail and into her day clothing. Her voice was laced with curiosity. She raised her arms so that she could be assisted.

''Oh, scoff. Do not allow your mind to wonder such things. Just stay away.'' Trudy scolded. ''He isn't half as handsome as Lord Sedgewick, too.''

''Hmm.'' Rose muttered. She moved mechanically, used to the morning dressing ritual. It was something which she had endured most of her life. Trudy had been her abigail for four years. She was just four years older than Rose but not so innocent to the ways of the world. ''Tell me about your Harry.'' Rose urged as Trudy worked her corset, pulling the strings tighter but in a gentle way.

''Oh, Miss. Rose. You know that well.''

''Perhaps, but when two people are truly in love just the way you are, it makes one pine for such feelings.'' In her head, adoration was something which she felt the need to feel the most in the world. To see a man with pure love in his eyes and only honourable intentions towards her.

''You are yet young; your time will come.'' Trudy tightened the lower laces.

''So, pray, tell me, will you wait until you wed before you take him into your bed?''

Trudy dropped the laces in her trembling hands, utterly shocked by the words which the young Rose had uttered.

''Rose!'' She cried, informally, knowing just how she would be scolded if she was heard by Lady DeWitt. Not just for addressing Rose the way she did but for the contents of their conversations.

''Come, do not be a prude and tell me. I am your friend and you are mine, too. The only true friend I have of which to discuss such matters."

Trudy felt the heat across her chest and cheeks. Rose's warm hands came up to touch her face ever so gently, she stroked across her face as if to wipe away the flush.

''You have too much fire.''

She dropped her hands by her sides in mock frustration and turned so that Trudy could resume her lacing of the corset.

''Perhaps. Would marriage tame that?''

''Never. A fire as wild as yours can never be tamed. Maybe you will marry a man with a temper to match and together, create a passion that others would only ever crave.''

Rose giggled, loudly. She knew that her entrance to Society had caused quite a stir amongst her peers. Her first Season had begun and she would be allowed to all of the dances to meet the eligible young men. Her Mother would bat for the richest, but Rose wanted fire and she craved that feeling in her stomach which she would read of in the romantic novels. She couldn't imagine marrying a man and him not love her, or want her in the same way which she wanted him.

At the ball the evening before, Lord Hockley had certainly caught her attention. He was handsome and cocky. She thoroughly enjoyed to converse with a man who had wit and not simply as dull as dishwater. Who wanted to talk about the weather?

''Yes, I would.''

Trudy voice broke Rose's thoughts.

''I beg your pardon?''

Trudy smiled quietly. ''Yes, I would allow Harry to take me into his bed before we married.''

Rose gasped, harshly. ''Truly?'' She turned, seeing Trudy's reddened cheeks once more.

''Yes. He is finely handsome. I see the muscles through his shirts sometimes and when he holds me I-'' She stopped, realising that her most intimate thoughts were now out in the open.

''Trudy!''

''I-I'm sorry.'' She blushed.

''No. Please. Don't be.'' Rose bit her lip, seeing just how flush her friend was. ''Harry is very handsome and has the build of a labourer. That is a body to be enjoyed and not kept beneath his clothing.''

Trudy noted the serious look upon Rose's face. Her innocent beauty was radiant and yet, the thoughts which roamed her head were sometimes a little too much for an un wed virgin. She entirely blamed herself for the reasons of her thoughts but combined with the fire within her body, she knew just how hard Miss. Rose would be to handle once she had settled. Once that day come, she didn't know what they future held for their friendship.

''Yes, well, knock those thoughts from that pretty head. We must dress you for the day's events and we are stalling.'' Trudy worked Rose's corset faster, pulling quicker and causing her body to jolt. Silence fell over them once more. Rose kept her thoughts private. They fell to the handsome Lord Hockley. She knew of his situation and that his gravely ill father was pressing him to find a wife soon. She wondered if he was aware of her situation. The man who would become her husband would also be financially responsible for repaying the debts of her father which he had left after his passing just three months previous. The debtors were knocking but not that frequently but that would soon change and so, at just eighteen, the responsibility would fall upon her young and inexperienced shoulders. Her mouths' shrill and sharp voice drilled her every day of their precarious state and more and more Rose had found herself slipping into a melancholy world where she would retreat to her room to read the novels which Trudy fetched her each week. It was a world which she had lived in for most of her teenage years.

She enjoyed the company of Trudy very much. As an only child, her upbringing had been lonely and vacant. Trudy would regale Rose with tales of the servants and who was caught fondling whom. Her family worked for other notable families of London Society and so snippets of gossip would reach Rose's ears through the hired help and in exchange, Rose gave word of the tales she heard whilst attending the finest dinners and balls which the country had to offer.

But her heart ached, for that passion which she read of so often. The one that gave a woman pleasure instead of simply laying there whilst a man had his way which was exactly how she imagined Lord Hockley to be.

She smirked.

Perhaps, she would toy with him the way in which he toyed with her. She needed a little game and entertainment whilst attending the next event of two and perhaps, he would kill her boredom too.

Let the Season commence.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter two,

''I would like to announce the arrival of Lord Hockley.'' Ben, the tall butler nodded as he bared a calling card with the Hockley name and an artistic design. He had been employed by the family for as long as they all could remember.

Rose smoothed out her baby pink satin gowns and placed her quill and parchment to one side. Her correspondence would have to wait a little longer. Between the parties she had attended recently in preparation for her introduction to Society, she had been left very little time. _It is all preparation for your duty as a wife,_ her Mother had told her repeatedly. She had also crowed with excitement after breakfast as Lord Hockley had made his intentions to call known to her.

''Very well, have him meet me in the parlour with tea made immediately.''

''Yes, Miss.'' Ben, bowed as he clicked the door closed. Her Mother had left in a carriage a short while before Rose had begun her correspondence and inside, she was thankful that Lord Hockley had chosen this particular Wednesday afternoon to call. Her mood should lift, she thought as she made her way into the parlour, her skirts swishing around her legs and her boots clacking against the thick wooden floor. Inside, her stomach was awfully still. She had expected some fluttering about to occur as she laid eyes on him once more. He had made his intentions towards her made right away and for that, she should feel a shudder of something. A flicker. Just like Trudy had with Harry. She exhaled as she entered the sitting room with the door already ajar, she caught sight of Lord Hockley. He was handsome, just as she remembered. His hair fell around his shoulders in a wave which was tied neatly with a ribbon at the bottom and his attire was of a navy velvet, the material which a woman should want to run her hands over but Rose didn't.

''Miss Dewitt. What an absolute vision you are.'' He held out his hand as he crossed the sitting room to take her dainty hand in his. They were smoother than hers. Not an ounce of labour had he done in his life. Perhaps he took part in outdoor sport, she pondered. There had to be something which he enjoyed in his spare time away from his desk.

''Thank you, my Lord.'' She took her hand from his. ''Shall we take tea?''

''Of course.''

As he turned, she allowed her eyes to roam the length of his body. His attire suited him greatly and his form was wonderful. She knocked the lewd thoughts from her head and reminded herself of Trudy's words. Such notions shouldn't enter even a married woman's head, not one of her social standing.

The sitting room was decorated in pink and cream hues, almost no place for a male presence but with his stark contrast in the vast space, she almost enjoyed it. It was almost like a small boy playing with a dolly. Unheard of.

''What a wonderful afternoon we have. No rain for the third day.'' Lord Hockley relaxed his shoulders. His large hands fumbled with the lid of the sugar bowl. He had clearly never made his own tea. He glanced about; there was no hired help. Rose smiled at his awkward dallying.

''Lord Hockley, you bless me with your presence to chat about the weather?'' She took the sugar bowl from him. ''How many?''

''Two.'' He smiled and stopped fidgeting as she dropped the two lumps of sugar expertly into his dark tea.

''Good.''

''What is wrong with the weather, fair lady?'' He stirred the tea with a metal spoon and placed it beside the saucer on the dainty China set. He was never one for tea. He had never entertained a lady before, not intimately. Usually the woman was in his bed before they could even utter more than a few lewd words. This whole charade was new to him, too. She took notes on this.

''Just a sennight ago, one was telling me such things. Promises of a future, if you will and now, here you are. Gone is the scoundrel and replaced by a fumbling fool.'' She pressed her lips together, wetting them with a quick dart of her tongue. He pondered if she knew just what affect that small action did to him. He slowly exhaled, keeping his calm.

''I apologise for my sharp tongue.'' He nodded. ''My lewd tongue also, when it came to Lord Gardener.''

''Sincerely? I must assume you were too far in your cups to speak in such a way to me.''

With a hidden smirk behind his cup, he sipped the tea. It wasn't so bad. He could drink this if it meant growing closer to the beauty beside him. He should have to take more note of the preparation process though so that in future he wasn't fumbling like a virginal school boy.

''Apologies.'' He repeated.

''Indeed.'' Rose delicately placed her lip to her cup and took a small sip. She was like a doll. As she glanced at the tea set, Caledon allowed his eyes to travel south. Her chest wasn't as exposed as it had been the night of the ball. _Good_. He thought. _No tight breeches._

''I was informed afterward that you were correct.'' She smiled, sweetly.

''Pardon me?''

''Lord Gardener was indeed cavorting with Nancy as you estimated. I refused the fool any further dances for the duration of my Season.''

Caledon raised an eyebrow. ''Wise choice. When a man is dallying with other women when beautiful Lady Rose is awaiting a dance...the man's an utter fool.''

Rose turned to him. He was different today. Calmer. She intended to ruffle those feathers. ''So, if we wed, would you remain faithful? Could a man like you, so accustomed to bedding as many women as he wants just take one single woman for the rest of his life?''

Tea had never been snorted of out Caledon Hockley's nostrils before. Or had it trickled down his chin. Nor had he ever choked on anything. Until now. He spluttered as though a fish bone was stuck right in his gullet, wedged and robbing him of his own breath. His body heaved as he grabbed a napkin and dapped furiously at his chin, embarrassed at his coughing fit but alarmed also. He coughed once more and he felt an almighty whack across the top of his broad back.

''Lord Hockley!'' Ben had heard the commotion and stepped inside the sitting room without an invite. A second whack hit Caledon's back before Rose held up her hand in a signal to cease.

''It's all right!'' She cried. Placing her hand upon Caledon's shoulders. ''The tea was simply too hot.''

''Are you all right, my Lord?'' Her hands upon his shoulders was unexpected.

Caledon nodded. His throat still tight. ''Yes. Thank you.''

''You may go, Ben.''

Ben nodded. ''Call the bell if further assistance is needed, my lord.''

''Thank you.''

Rose removed her hands from his shoulders and suddenly, his body felt cold. He had enjoyed her touch. His mind cast back to her outright question and he noted that her cheeks were as discoloured as they were before the query. She wasn't abashed. Good Lord, just what type of woman was she?

''I'm sorry if I caused you to choke.'' She smirked behind her teacup. ''One has never seen such a sight.''

Caledon shook his head, knowing just how flirtatious she was. She had him right where she wanted him. He would play right along into her hands if that was what she liked.

''You are a pistol, my lady.''

''So, I have been told, my lord.'' Her eyes sparkled. ''And, my question remained unanswered.''

He decided that tea wasn't for him. He pushed the service away from him before clasping his hands in his lap.

''You believe I am here for your hand?''

''Why else? You made me promises. You wanted no one else to look at me without knowing that I belong to you and yet, here I am. A free woman. I may decide who I dance with.''

He knew what he wanted to do with her. The thought had tormented him endlessly since he had left her in the ballroom. Half a dozen whores had yet to take the edge of that urge. But he knew that he must wed. Soon. He wanted her. Needed her. She would drive him to the edge and back again and he felt the urge to see her writhing with him in his bed...

''That is true.''

''So, you see, we are at loss, my lord.'' She watched as he studied her fair beauty. How had she been blessed with such luxurious lips? His breeches twitched.

''I would like to court you.'' The words came out before he could stop them.

''But I have not yet been introduced to all-''

''I don't care.'' He exhaled, his voice deep, full of something which she hadn't yet heard before. A longing? Did he want her?

''But I must ask in return? What of my interest?''

He raised an eyebrow. ''I am intrigued.''

''I am a woman. I also have needs, my lord.''

He smirked, his smile wider than he anticipated. ''I don't doubt that, Miss. Rose. What would one need?''

She hesitated for a moment. Her eyes watching as he waited for her answer. How long would he wait to know what her needs were? That was a challenge.

''Satisfaction.'' She whispered. Her voice barely audible. ''Passion.''

If he wasn't aroused before, he was now.

''I want to be loved like there is no tomorrow.''

His eyes locked with hers and he swore he stopped breathing. He was enthralled by her. His nostrils flared and he had to glance away to stop himself from claiming her mouth right there.

Rose, too glanced at the table. She felt how her stomach seemed to churn in the opposite direction almost as though she was at sea and the turbulent wind threatened to upturn her ship.

''I must take a nap.'' She smiled, politely.

His smile faded. He had been at her home almost half of an hour; not nearly enough time. Their topics of conversation had barely been covered and he had yet to speak of himself, of his accomplishments and appeals to her as a husband. He wished to try to change her mind, but he knew to tread carefully so early.

''Perhaps I can call again later this week?''

''That would be lovely.''

For the first time in his presence, she feigned a smile. She faked a lie. She had never felt so ill in her entire life than what she did at this moment in time. She cursed her curious and flirtatious nature. The side of her which Lady DeWitt never saw. Her mind had roamed most of the afternoon; trying to picture a man such as Lord Hockley wrapped around her, loving her so that her toes curled and she felt unabashedly satisfied in every way. _He couldn't love her._ Not the way Trudy loved Harry.

He left. And she took a nap. Exhausted.

 _Later that evening,_

Lady Ruth DeWitt was as sharp as a tack. In every way. Her daughter's beauty was not lost on her. Nor was the attention which Lord Hockley had showered her with. His call this afternoon though seemed to have left her only daughter in a very strange mood.

Rose picked at her dinner and sagged her shoulders. She sat as though a commoner dined opposite her. The dress which adorned her body was plain but pleasant. Not enough to attract a male. Ruth knew better than to pick at her daughter at this moment. She was on the right path and Lord Hockley was a fine match. Their survival was ensured. He had made his attraction personally known to her that morning in a swift chat. Ruth was satisfied that the match would go ahead. Rose could perhaps grow to love him. Lord knows, she would, if given chance to be a girl of eighteen once more. Lord Hockley was more handsome than most could ever wish to be.

As soon as Rose's eyes caught her Mother's, her sagged shoulders squared and stood to attention.

''Better.'' Ruth delicately cut up her chicken. ''I was starting to believe an urchin had replaced my well brought up daughter.''

Rose breathed out. Her ribcage slowly closing in with the tightness of her corset. ''Forgive me, Mama. My head is engaged.''

''Soon your heart will be, too.'' Ruth smiled, knowingly. Her match with Rose's father hadn't been a good one. Yes, his title and his money were the attraction but his face wasn't that of an angel and so Ruth had endured a pitiful marriage all for the sake of her blue blood and a title to match. His death caused a ripple of shock amongst their peers but it had ensured her own freedom. Yes, she was a widow at just thirty-eight, but young enough to take lovers where needed. Her figure hadn't altered since giving birth. Rose, on the other hand, had somehow grown into a buxom young woman. One which she knew men would lust for. Her breasts swelled atop most dresses, her curves were never hidden no matter how boned the corset and attractions grew as soon as her daughter had ripened.

''Will it?''

Ruth took a sip of wine, allowing the liquid to burn her stomach. ''Yes. With a man as fine as Lord Hockley, you will be a flutter as soon as he takes your hand to dance, my love.''

Rose followed suit, sipping her wine in a delicate manner but by the latter of the endless meal, Rose had sunk four glasses and picked at all of her courses. Ruth couldn't scold as she knew the girl was about to be offered marriage. There was no doubt about it. She knew the stir which her daughter had caused upon their peers; just a week into the Season and perhaps Hockley would pay his addresses sooner to cease Rose's eye to wonder elsewhere.

''I must retire. My sleep is important.''

''Indeed.'' Ruth raised from her seat. Her napkin fell onto the table. She came around the table to her daughter. Rose held out her hands to her Mother, allowing her to take them in hers and press a kiss to her forehead.

''Caledon Hockley is a fine match, my young Rose. He will ensure our survival.''

Rose could only nod as the servants came in to clear away the dinner service.

She proceeded to her room, leaving her Mother awake to complete a cross stitch before she would retire herself.

Her mind was numb, filled with thoughts a young girl shouldn't have. Her head was heavy, crowded...

''He wishes to take me to Lincolnshire. A country life with four children.'' Trudy whispered so that only Rose could hear as she removed the clothes before laying them out across the upholstered bed. Rose muttered a response.

''How idyllic.''

''We could have horses. The children could learn to ride right after they start walking-'' Trudy's excitement fainted as she spotted the sombre note adorning Rose's beautiful face. Her lips pressed together, her shoulders sagged as though the weight of the world was rested just above her.

''Miss. Rose?''

Trudy took both of Rose's hands in hers and led her to the bed where she sat, blindly led. Wearing just her chemise and stockings with her shoes not yet removed, she was the absolute opposite of the blinding vision she had been at dinner. The sparkle had vanished from her eyes, replaced by unshed tears.

''I'm so sorry to spoil your wonderful story, Trudy. One which I shall listen to and relish when I am feeling quite myself.''

''You're ill?''

Rose shook her head. ''Blue.''

Trudy smiled, weakly. ''Oh, my friend.''

''He sounds so wonderful. Truly. When he asks for your hand, I wish to meet him before he steals you away to the country.'' Rose smiled through her unshed tears as she shivered. ''What a vision in white you shall be.''

Trudy stroked her fingers gently through Rose's unrestrained curls. It brought her a little comfort, just the way a mother should touch their daughter when one was in need of love.

''I shan't be eligible to wear such a virginal colour.'' Her voice dipped low, awaiting her friend's response.

A sharp gasp came from Rose. Her eyes were suddenly curiously wide with the tears which threatened to fall completely disappearing.

''He bed you?''

Trudy nodded slowly.

''What of it?''

''It was so wonderful.'' Her hand shook as intimate memories came flooding back. ''I was not his first, as suspected, but he tells me that I shall be his last.''

Rose's lips curved into a smile which didn't quite reach her eyes. ''How romantic.''

''It was, Rose. I shall tell you too much detail tomorrow morn.''

''I cannot wait.''

The bedroom suddenly seemed to be spinning. Rose grasped onto the sheets of her counterpane. She hadn't drunk too much liquor that evening, perhaps she hadn't eaten very much. Her stomach hadn't burned.

It took a moment to see that it was obvious now. Trudy was aglow with love. Her body swayed the way a woman did. A slight spring in her step and a hum as she worked. It was true.

Rose's dry lips parted. Lord Hockley didn't ignite even a tiny spark within her stomach.

''Would you prepare a wash?''

Trudy did respond but it wasn't heard by Rose. She departed the room in order to locate the bath and pour the contents of her soaps, warm water and rose petals in before she would call upon Rose and help her to wash. The process would take Trudy at least a quarter hour.

She was suddenly so aware of her fear. The fear of what life held for her. Perhaps Lord Hockley wouldn't need to be the way forward. There was Lord Sedgewick...he was a fine man. One with a much better reputation. She sighed. There would be time. She could grow to love...

A long brown calf skin coat was draped across the wardrobe and suddenly, Rose was springing up from the bed wearing her undergarments. She struggled with the heavy coat, pulling her arms inside and realising that it had been the first time in her life that she had put an item of clothing upon her own body. She shook, struggling into it as though she was a child trying to walk yet hadn't quite mastered the skill. Inside, frustration swam around her until it finally leaked out; first from her eyes and then in the sound of a sob which she choked back as best she could. Her hair was heavy and unpinned, floating around her shoulders before ending at her waist. She pushed it away from her face as she pulled the coat together and with trembling hands, she failed to know how to button a garment.

The DeWitt manse was large. The servant's quarters located to the far left. She had only ventured that way as a child when her Mother wasn't around but with Trudy's words dancing within her mind, Rose set off for the servant's wing in a fast-paced run, her coat and hair trailing before her. Her Mother would have retired to her room now. A glance at the large clock which adorned the sapphire hued hallways told her it was almost midnight.

Another flight of stairs later, she was in the very bottom of the manse. The only sound was the beating of her heart and the soft tapping of her shoes upon the wooden floor as she made her way to the first door which she could find. Her hands tried the handle. It was locked. A large key sat on the dusty table beside her and with a grateful sigh, she fumbled with it. As quiet as a mouse could be, she opened the rusty door before she was met with the night air. It came at her with a whisper and enticed her out into the vast gardens. Putting the key inside her coat pocket, she pulled the garment together, knowing that that beneath it, she was wearing very little.

She had never ventured outside at night before, not alone. The bright stars overhead seemed to call to her and she felt the weight upon her shoulders momentarily melt away. The only light came from the moon which shone between the trees. She didn't feel scared in the slightest. The Dewitt gardens were endless. The beautiful landscape which was host to many events in the summer was surprisingly eerie in the darkness. She broke out into a run in an unknown direction. The wind whipped her hair about her face and she felt free for the first time in her entire life.

What would her Mother do if she could bare a witness to this precise moment? Her beloved daughter running, wearing very little and running through the mudded gardens which led out to the stables. What would Lord Hockley say? Would Lord Gardener wish to take a tumble with her...

''No,'' she whispered, furiously to herself.

A well brought up girl should never act out of line. Not this way. Even Trudy, she decided would have a fit if she saw just how young Rose was behaving at this moment in time. Innocent Trudy who had allowed her young man into her bed even though he had not yet even proposed marriage. It was romantic, wonderful and yet...utterly disgraceful. How men had life so easy. The more whores they took, the more well-respected they seemed to be. A virginal Earl, fancy that. She laughed at her own thoughts as she came to a clearing where three wooden huts housed the horses which the DeWitt's owned. She had loved horses for as long as she could remember but had refrained from riding since an accident when she was eleven. The soft patting of the hooves could be heard from and inside, and instinctively she moved to the first shed. A quick glance about told her that no one was around and she slipped inside quietly so not to disturb the mares.

It was almost pitch-black inside. Her eyes struggled to adjust to the darkness and suddenly, she screamed, having found herself tumbling towards the hay and something else...something bare. Arms. A man. She went to scream louder but a dirty hand covered her mouth to restrain her and then, it went black.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter three,

 _Work hard, my boy. Work hard and you shall be rewarded handsomely._ The words of Jack Dawson's Irish uncle rang heavily through his head as he ploughed his pitch fork through the hay, working it for the umpteenth time that day. Zac had passed on three weeks before, leaving young Jack an orphan for the second time in his life.

Jack's past was blurry and it was one which he would never reveal to anyone. So, he had left Ireland for the third time in his life to return to London, where his uncle had found him a labour job to keep his head down for the time being. That had been three years ago. The hours were long and the coin was pitiful but, he worked with nature and with horses. It provided a roof over folk's head and food upon their table. Working with his Uncle had been what passed the day along nicely but after his illness and his eventual death, Jack had returned his body to Belfast to rest with the other Dawson's. Seeing the bodies of his loved ones laid in shallow graves side by side in the yard of the church he had attended each Sunday as a boy had been a wakeup call. Life didn't go on forever. God took the ones he wanted whether the mortal souls on Earth were ready or not. Never a warning. His mother and then his father. Now, his uncle. There were none of the Dawson's left. That would be how it remained.

 _Take each opportunity which comes at you..._ that was the lesson which he had learnt this time.

He had yet to be rewarded handsomely, as Uncle Zac would say, but Jack kept his head down and he worked hard to keep out of trouble. An occupied mind was the best way forward. His past was so shaded that even he wouldn't even know just how to think of himself. He was no one. He had no place in Society, yet they invited his presence; perhaps for gossip. He was a man people knew very little about and yet who they seemed to know very well. His part amongst Society was welcomed and yet shunned. There wasn't another like him in London. His presence shook people, made them wary but also made them interested. So, he kept away, keeping his head down and working where he was needed to but attending when he needed to as well. A double life as some would say it was.

Sweat dripped from his long dirty blonde hair, stinging his eyes and shining his face. Even removing his shirt hadn't stopped the heat penetrating him and so, he just worked on, regardless. The sheds were large. The horses mostly slept aside from the odd fluster of a snore or a movement as they twitched, it was silent. Peaceful. This was the time of day Jack preferred to work. During the day he would be endlessly interrupted. _Load up the horses, Mrs DeWitt must go shopping it's a matter of urgency._ It always was, he would snigger to himself. Self-absorbed, arrogant twits they were. The lot of them. Another reason for him to keep his own person away from the drawl of it all. How people coped with the entire charade was beyond him.

Footsteps from outside the shed sounded causing Jack to cease his work, leaning his pitch fork against the wood slat of the beam and he moved forward, swatting hair from his face so that he could go to investigate the disturbance. The door swung open silently but in the dark, he saw only a dark figure. He frowned, as his eyes adjusted in the darkness of the shed. Who would call so late? A gentleman caller wishing to depart discreetly? But still, a servant would send word for an unmarked carriage to be sent quickly and not be left to personally inform him. He then realised, nobody knew that he was here working...

The pace of the footsteps grew closer and closer, until without a warning, a lady's scream sounded, startling him to his very core. He found himself falling, grasping onto a heavy garment of some sort. It was heavy and hair tickled his bare chest. A pair of hands struggled, scratching at his skin to claw them away or clasp onto it, which he didn't know. There was some form of struggle within the hands of the stranger. In the dim light, he saw a pair of lips, parting as they struggled for breath and then suddenly, he brought his hand up to her mouth knowing that she was about to scream once more but louder, no doubt it would alert the entire house to the location of both, where she was and he, too ultimately landing them both in hot water. He gently placed her hand over her plump lips, feeling how soft they were beneath his fingers.

''Shush. It is all right.'' He whispered in an attempt to soothe the girl, struggling with the weight of her atop him and getting up out of the hay which he had spent hours sorting. It was suddenly no longer a priority.

He removed his hand after a few seconds before he realised that her body was limp. She no longer struggled. She was unconscious...the shock must have taken her...

''Shit.''

Quickly, he lay the woman into the hay ensuring that she wasn't hurt. Her body was heavy and reliant on his grasp to support her. Once he had laid her upon the softened hay, he fumbled about in his breeches pocket where he located a match. The evening had turned out very wrong. His hands felt about the wooden stool which he had brought with him to the shed and he found three large candles. Shaking, he lit the match in one attempt before stumbling his way back to the hay, now aided with his light. His feet moved with a newfound purpose but his heart hammered in his chest for some unknown reason. His eyes adjusted to the new flame as it danced, casting eerie golden shadows across the walls and ground until he came closer to her. As he set eyes upon her for the first time, the natural rise and fall of his chest suddenly ceased to a halt as though it was a forgotten task. Stunning red curls framed a fair face with full, parted rich red lips. She wore a brown calf coat which came to her ankles, velvet pastel pink boots and then- just a white sheer chemise and stockings.

His lips parted as he struggled to breath through his stunned state. The young girl was practically unclothed. He couldn't linger about her and so quickly, he removed his eyes from her. The chemise was see-through, the shadow of her nipple just apparent. _Oh, shit..._

A cough alerted him to her consciousness. It was dry, heaving her small body and he rushed to her aid as he held the candle in his right hand as his left came to her shoulders, she suddenly sat upright with wide, open eyes revealing the most beautiful blue he had even born witness to. Instantly, their eyes locked. The empty, hollow hole in his stomach seemed to fill for the first time in so long that it burned him. He had never felt that before. It was settling and yet, so unsettling at the very same time. It was warm...

His hand was still set on her shoulder as he noticed that he was touching her bare skin. The coat had slipped down as she had sat upright. It was so soft. He didn't dare move in case she screamed again. He seemed to be a deer caught in a lamp light; still and transfixed. He had to remember to breath as his eyes searched hers for something. Anything. A recognition. A knowing of something.

This had to be a dream. He had fallen asleep in the barn after working himself too hard. It was the only way to explain the vision which had laid before him. He blinked several times, shifting his weight from one knee to the other but he didn't seem to awaken. She was as delicate as a doll and yet, so-beautiful.

''Who are you?''

Her firm voice startled him. It wasn't as soft as a summers breeze as he had imagined. It was shrill and unkind. He parted his lips but nothing came out at all.

''I said, who are you?'' She demanded, louder. ''And what are you doing in my barn?''

Jack removed his hand from her shoulder, slowly backing away but his eyes didn't leave hers. She was not a delicate flower as he had initially thought.

''I'm Jack. Jack Dawson.'' His voice was soft as though he was trying to soothe a crying child.

The lady got to her feet with a little struggle, pulling the coat further across her body. ''I will scream at the top of my lungs in five seconds unless you tell me why you are here on my property.''

Jack pulled himself to his feet. Her voice was icy, her eyes silently demanding. It took a second to realise then that she was Lady DeWitt's daughter. He could see the resemblance between Mother and daughter and yet, Lady DeWitt was pale in comparison to her daughter. Her eyes were larger, deeper than her Mother's perhaps that was a trait from her father, Lord DeWitt.

She had yet to scream.

''No, you won't.''

Her eyes flared, angered.

''What do you mean? Of course, I will. What presumption do you have? One will not tell me what I can and cannot do.''

Jack hid his amused smirk.

''Well, my lady, you would have screamed already. Your presence out here in the dark partially clothed would be known and you would no doubt be scolded along with my instant dismissal from my duties which would leave your family in a very difficult predicament as I am the man who tends to your horses.'' Jack raised his eyebrows. ''Also, with all due respect, your lack of attire would perhaps indicate that you had come here to-''

He couldn't finish, knowing that he was speaking the truth but treading very lightly around the lady. He was cocky, yes but certainly didn't wish to be out of a job or see her in trouble. Her eyebrows raised right away, she stepped back; her eyes seeming to drink in his shirtless body in a very discreet manner. He was suddenly very aware of her bewitched state, it had stolen the very words from her mouth and they had yet to depart her mind to thread a sentence. He crossed his arms across his chest. The act seemed to dislodge her stare a little.

''Mr. Dawson! How dare you insinuate that I should come out here to—fornicate—with a man of your-'' she stumbled struggling to find the rights words. Her eyes were wide, curious. They ran the length of his body, stopping at his chest and torso. She blinked several times before she seemed to note his lack of shirt once more. She stuttered something inaudible once more.

''Miss. Rose?''

With crossed his arms across his chest, it was alerting her eyes to the muscles which formed there. Having only dreamt of what would lie beneath a mans attired torso, Rose blinked back the stare.

''Are you all right ma'am?''

No more words left her lips before she departed hastily through the same door which she had entered through, although this time hay streaked through her curls and clung to her coat and boots. Jack bit back a smile. He had a feeling he would be seeing her again. Sometime soon.

A bath did nothing to soothe Rose's anger. Nor did Trudy rubbing her shoulders until the tension had unknotted from her body and so, she lay awake at almost a quarter after three. Her counterpane was pulled up to her chest. The room pitch black aside from the heavy drapes allowing in a few inches of moonlight through the large window. The trees outside cast large shadows to dance across her walls and she watched them freely, allowing them to distract her mind from the events of the past week or so.

Upon her return, Trudy had truly and thoroughly been shocked. Rose was flushed from her head to toe, hay adorning her hair; hundreds of pieces as though she had rolled about like the horses did daily. Regaling her journey to her maid quietly and angrily had done nothing to dampen the way Jack Dawson, the stable boy had spoken to her. His place amongst society was well known, as was hers and yet, he discarded her as though she was the lower-class horse tender. _Good Heavens..._

Her breathing was still ragged from the evenings events and she was well aware that sleep wouldn't come too easily for her now. Each time she closed her eyes, she saw the way he had watched her. It wasn't indecent, despite her lack of clothing. There was something very raw, almost emotional about the way he had viewed her. It wasn't as primitive as perhaps the way that she had viewed his stomach, his shoulders... Argh! How could she had been so foolish...and it was cold out in the barn. Which didn't explain why he was rid of his shirtsleeves.

A man doesn't simply remove his upper body clothing after midnight...in the barn...unless...he had been waiting to dally with some-unfortunate soul. Anger poured through her veins. This was a fresh batch. She tried to calm her breathing as she lay as positively still as she could. 1...2...3 and then the image returned. The way his arms had held onto her as they had fell into the hay. It was gentle but strong. The feel of his warm skin and how the small smattering of hair across his well-built chest had tickled her face...

He was a labourer. Built like a man. The men she read about in those books which Trudy had given to her. Her heart raced beneath the counterpane. Slowly, her eyes flickered open. Only in her own mind had she envisioned what a man shed of his clothes would appear to be. Now, for the first time in her young life she had seen it. Been close to it. Was she affected? Surely not. What affect could a man like he have on her? He could offer her very little in any way. He could only be good for one thing; matters which lay beneath a man's breeches, just like the rest of those types.

His eyes had borne into hers as though he was reading her entire mind, body and soul. His breathing had laboured just as hers had. Had he been affected too? Could her presence cause a man as fine as he to quake in their very shoes just as she had done for him? The thought caused her entire stomach to contain butterflies flickering so deeply than ever before. That was a feeling only known to reside in her head. Even tea with Lord Hockley had yet to stir such feelings, even the way he spoke to her should have seduced her into marriage right there and then. He hadn't sparked one flicker of anything at all. Tea with him had been pleasant enough but it was also as pleasant taking tea with the Rowland sisters on a Thursday afternoon. Dancing with the Earl of Sussex hadn't caused even a fleck of excitement. The conversation had been pleasant, his wig had been very fashionable...pleasant.

Jack Dawson was perhaps a little more than pleasant.

Is that what men of his background did? Dally in the barn with the hired staff and then allow them to be led to believe it was love until they found a better offer to pass the time of day with? Is that what Nancy was to Lord Gardener? And God knows how many widows Lord Hockley had been known to take into his bed. How could a man have his wicked way with a woman so openly and unabashedly and yet, when they attended the balls of this Society, they kept a straight face and retained their reputation? It was scandalous.

Would Mr. Dawson tumble about in _her_ horse shed with whichever unfortunate little woman took his fancy? The anger which coursed her veins seemed to have ceased but one spark of a thought, of reporting his late-night presence to her Mother would ensure the young man would never be there again. He would be out of a job and unable to take his little chits there. She knew she would never speak a word of it again. She never could. She must allow herself to forget the disgusting, albeit handsome man, who she knew she would have more than a little trouble ridding from her mind.

Rose sighed heavily. Her eyelids were growing heavy and her body seemed to be settling into a state of relaxion for the first time all evening. Her hair was brushed and neatly plaited ready to be styled for the morn. An endless parade of parties...tomorrow there would be a charity polo match. The men would show their sportsmanship out on the open field and the women would steal cheeky glances from behind their fans whilst whispering into the ears of their siblings or friends. Yes, the Season was about to begin properly. It was like Spring when males came out to mate with the females but in this life, perhaps the young women were the most eager when it came to selecting a mate, a husband. Someone who would ensure their safety and wellbeing for the rest of their lives.

By the end of her first Season, she would be betrothed, that much she knew. Lord Hockley would be hard to keep at bay. Perhaps she should give him more of a chance. He was very handsome, wealthy and... obviously something of a charmer. His presence had effects on all even if she seemed to be a little immune to it. Affection can take time to grow.

If Jack Dawson had asked her to dance, she contemplated what her response would be. His body draped in the finest clothing which Austin's Tailors could offer a man. He could look beautiful...even more handsome than he had in just his discoloured breeches and mudded boots. Rose scolded herself for noting just how little clothing he had worn. Her breathing had returned to its usual rise and fall, so had her heartrate and she was glad of that.

When she closed her heavy lids, she was fast off in a dream of darkness where there was a man, shirtless and holding her closely whilst whispering offers of marriage and love. That man was the stable boy. A man she knew that she could never have but still, her dreams were her own and it's not like she could stop them from entering her subconscious whilst she slept the best that she had in so long.

Outside, beneath the glittering stars, Jack had ceased work and lay out on the fields. His hair billowed in the light breeze and he smoked a cigarette, hoping that it could calm his nervous state. She was the Lady's daughter, for Heaven's sake and yet, something about her had rattled him to his very core.

Her fiery nature had reeled him so far in that it was hard to be thrown back out. Her beauty had stolen his attention but the rest of her seemed to mysterious. _He had to know her._ There was an air about her; something melancholy. There was a reason why she was out in the barn half clothed and she knew it wasn't to seek out a male lover. There had to be more to it than that and he intended to find out one way or another, he had to; he couldn't ignore the feelings which she had ignited deep within his gut. That had to mean something. It had to.

Perhaps Harry, his workmate could ask discreetly through the girl he was in love with. She worked closely in the DeWitt household, or so he was told.

He had never shown an interest in the goings on of Society until now. Whenever gossips were about, he would flee without the slightest bother of listening. He had seen Lady DeWitt from afar on several occasions and had noted her icy exterior and the way she seemed to rule her household with an iron rod. He had never crossed paths with Miss. Rose DeWitt though until this evening. He had heard though, that she had only recently been introduced to the ways of the world. He had heard of her rare beauty and how she paralysed the men of London and the surrounding counties with one small stare. That he could vouch for.

He exhaled his smoke, watching how it trailed away with the wind. The stars were brighter tonight, twinkling as though each one was trying to tell him something with its movement.

''Can you tell me, Uncle Zach?'' He whispered into the breeze. ''What does it mean?''

He received no response. But as his eyes closed, he did dream for the first time in years. He dreamed of her.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter four,

''What a fine day, Miss. DeWitt.'' Lord Sedgewick smiled handsomely down to her. Her fan worked overtime before her flushed face and she nodded a response. The sun was uncomfortably warm.

''Indeed, my lord. Perfect for a fine match like today. All for such a wonderful cause.''

''Yes.''

''How lovely of you to participate.''

''It is a cause very close to my heart, Miss. DeWitt. Therefore, I must. Also, polo is a great sport, one which I don't find the time to play as much as I would like to nowadays.''

''Perhaps today will ignite the passion for you, my lord.'' She glanced away at the field. She had noted Lord Hockley and his friend Lord Harrington amongst the participants. Their long legs on display in their riding breeches. Chants and cheers sounded from the audience of gatherers who come to witness the event.

''I don't need sport, my dear Rose, to feel such a thrill. Standing here with you is just as wonderful.''

Rose lowered her fan slowly, surprised by his words but they didn't cause a warm feeling. He was very handsome. Dark hair and green eyes. She liked light coloured eyes, she decided in that moment. He was tanned and tall. Nice teeth. Nice, neat fingernails. Most women watched him with those doe eyes, silently begging him to dance yet, he was here beside her, with full attention turned only to her. She had watched him with others but his eyes always seem to fall upon her once more. Was she truly the one he was willing to become attached to?

''Oh, my lord, you do flatter me.''

''It is the truth.'' He hesitated for a moment. ''Perhaps you could indulge me in a walk once I have played my set? Bring your chaperone, of course. I wouldn't want one to think ill of my intentions.''

Rose smiled, her eyes falling on Lord Hockley out on the field. He had already offered to take her on a tour of the gardens afterward, but she had declined and made a terrible excuse. The worst part of it was, that she hadn't felt an ounce of guilt in her as she noted that perhaps she should have. After all, he had made his intentions and feelings towards her known. He had almost demanded her to have him. She should have been thrilled, flaunting her new courtship all across the polo match.

''Of course. I shall call upon my abigail once you have finished.'' Rose agreed. She admired his gentlemanly ways. It was refreshing for a young man to care of her reputation. Especially after the apparent transaction between Nancy and Lord Gardener. If Lord Sedgewick was the sort to take whoever he wished into his bed, it certainly wasn't apparent to those about him. That she did like.

He nodded. ''Wonderful. Do excuse me.''

''Yes. Good luck.''

He tilted his head as an acknowledgement before proceeding to find his horse. She watched as he went, satisfied with her decision. There was something about him which appeared to be softer, more accessible than any other she had yet to converse with.

''Lord Hockley tells me you refused his company this afternoon.'' Lady DeWitt came silently beside her daughter. She fell a few inches shorter than Rose, her lips thin and tight. The woman was as sly as a fox, firmly positioning her ear in places where one's business shouldn't be and then passing on the snippets afterwards. Her movements toward Rose were unknown and so, she had overhead the conversation, or at least the end of it.

''Lord Sedgewick asked me first, Mama. One must not be rude to potential suitors.''

Rose smiled to her Mother, knowing that she did not disagree. All eligible gentleman would not be shunned.

''I see.''

She could sense that her Mother wasn't happy about the decision but knew better than to encourage her daughter to shun the young bachelors showing her an interest. It could, after all, fall through with Hockley, not that he had even paid his addresses yet – that would be a while off for sure.

''The sun is divine.'' Rose changed the subject as she smoothed out her scarlet dress. A stark contrast to her Mother's Spring pastel shades. ''Should be take tea before the next game resumes? I am quite parched and the sun is a little strong.''

''Yes, perhaps you should stay indoors a little while. You know how you burn.'' Her Mother was just as pasty as she, although had never quite stayed out in the sun for a lengthy period to redden. Her Mother was beautiful for her thirty-eight years and Rose noted that even now, her thin physique and lovely vibrant hair caught the attention of even the youngest of bachelors.

''Yes, Mama.''

Rose called Trudy, who swiftly followed her. Lady DeWitt led the way indoors to where various tables were laid out. The Earl's daughter played something lively on the pianoforte over by the French doors and the sound softly wafted outside. It was cooler indoors, Rose followed suit of smiling and nodding hellos to the faces of those who she knew before her mother selected a table in the far corner of the vast room with a view of the field out of a large window. They seated smoothly, her Mother's gaze fell about the room. Rose could almost hear the brain ticking off any qualities which she would diss momentarily.

''I do not care very much for this décor.'' She leaned into to her daughter slowly. ''Blood red hues clashing with navy. What a headache.''

Rose laughed lightly at her Mother's comment. ''Certainly not a cheery blend.'' She agreed but, failed to admit she found the collision of colours rather attractive. It was masculine, not like the golden and beiges of their home interior. Bland.

''Tea with scones.'' Ruth ordered sharply as she waved away a servant to proceed with her wish as though she was in her own home. Rose turned her attention to the field. Her eyes fell on Lord Sedgewick as he mounted his horse to prepare for the game. The swift work of his body and he was straddling his powerful mare; tall and proud. 

''What do you think, mama? Is Lord Sedgewick just as handsome as Lord Hockley.''

''Absolutely not.'' She shook her head, firmly. ''He is not bad to look at, I suppose. Pity his family cannot keep him out of the casinos.''

Rose raised an eyebrow away from her mother. Yes, indeed. If that was the case then her mother could be asked the same question! Why couldn't Lady DeWitt have kept Lord DeWitt out of the bloody casinos either? Of course, she remained tight lipped. Her father had never played a large role in her life. He seemed to come and go as he pleased; paying attention to Rose when needed to and then scurrying off once more. She counted on one hand the times she had felt his thorough love, and whilst her Mother was not a person she idolised, they still had a bond strengthened by their female genetics alone. Together, they enjoyed outings but her Mother was far more comfortable with her life within society walls than she could ever be. Following her Mother's suit had become a regular occurrence but since her father's passing, she had felt a closer bond with Lady DeWitt. Perhaps, as close as Mother and Daughter could be before a woman was to marry. After all, then Rose would leave her mother's clutches and would be then lady of her own household. The thought displeased her as much as the idea of marriage, but still, she had the rest of the Season to go, by which time she would be almost nineteen. Most ladies found a match either their first or second season and as much as she disliked the ideas of marriage so young, she pitied the twenty-three-year-old spinsters who had failed all Seasons. As for her father's absence; she had barely noticed it.

A tray of tea, scones and preserves were fetched to the table. Rose ran her hands over, smoothing out the cloth. Trudy tended to her tea, working to place two lumps of sugar in the cup whilst Ruth's abigail tended to the pot.

''Thank you.'' Rose smiled to Trudy who curtseyed before moving behind them.

''The tune on the pianoforte is wonderful.'' Ruth spoke above sips of her hot tea. ''Perhaps you should offer a tune afterward.''

Rose shook her head smoothly.''I'd rather not, Mama. I would prefer to indulge in the activities of this fine day, not sit at that instrument, it appears older than the Earl's Mother who has to be at least four scores.'' Rose indicated to the wooden old piano.

''Rose!'' Ruth cried, quietly. She craned her neck over to see the Earl's daughter tinkling beautifully but raised an eyebrow when she caught site of the—thing which she was playing.

''It is hideous.''

Ruth turned to her daughter, amusement shining momentarily for once. ''Yes, agreed. This entire room is obscene. I think I will take tea and then return home to the delight of my own sitting room. I am open to visitors after lunch for just two hours. The Countess is to regale me with tales of her trip to the West Indies. She returned yesterday morn.''

There was a relief when her mother revealed her plans to retire, she could enjoy the day without being so refined as she would need to be in the presence of Lady DeWitt. Her eyes would be free to scan the faces of handsome men about, to select who to indulge in conversation with and who to dismiss immediately.

''I will return once I have taken a stroll with Lord Sedgewick.'' Rose told her Mother. ''I intend to enjoy his company. He is quite charming.''

''Yes. Do try to converse with Lord Hockley, he took time out of his very busy schedule to visit.''

''Of course. I intend to.''

It was a lie.

Most of Societies eligible females all gathered within this room. Some were beautifully stunning, others plains. Some were feisty, others very quiet. Some were better educated than others. Either way, before the Season was out, most would have found a suitor to be married. Glancing around at the variety of clothing colours, figures, nose shapes and hair styles. One realised just what there was available to a young man these days. If only the same opportunity could be extended to a woman. Perhaps, if a woman set her cap at a handsome man or two. Rose raised her chin, craning her neck as she watched the bachelors at play outside in the field. A male form could be examined from afar fairly discreetly, she decided in that moment. Her Mother was chattering of some event or another, every now and again, Rose would mutter a response to ensure that she was listening when in fact she was otherwise engaged.

The cheers of the audience outside broke her attention and she noted a new rider on the field. Each team had four riders but none of the others stole her attention the way he did. He appeared tall, broad and fair headed. It was hard to see a face they moved so fast and he appeared to be an excellent player. Her attention turned to Lord Hockley; he was as competitive as they came, even when it came down to the woman he wanted. Rose sipped her tea, completely lost in the game outside but it wasn't the sport which had captured her attention.

''Mama?''

''Yes, Rose.''

''Just who is that who has joined in the activities?''

Ruth narrowed her eyes, obviously disinterested in the game.

''Hard to say.''

''Yes, it is. He appears to be a fine player.''

Rose stole glances outside after that. The game would be coming to a close very soon and then no doubt a party of some sort would commence to celebrate the funds raised.

Her Mother departed in her carriage a quarter hour later, leaving Rose in the company of the Rowland sisters. At twenty-three, Edwina was the eldest and was increasing with her first child just four months after the wedding. Samantha was Rose's age and was in her first Season, also. Together, they were as giddy as two schoolchildren; loud and hardly refined.

''I find Mr. Ware very charming. Lord Ware's son.'' Samantha giggled girlishly. ''Although, his hands are rather small.''

Edwina was puzzled, shaking her dark hair with confusion. ''Oh, Sam, what would such a tiny detail matter.'' She placed her hands upon her small waist, a protruding stomach just raising her skirts slightly.

''Well,'' she fluttered her lashes as the offending gentleman passed by, stealing a glance as he went, ''one would like a man to know what to do with his hands.''

''Oh, you!'' Rose cried, smiling, hiding her own blush behind her fan as she waved it furiously. A glance to Mr. Ware told Rose that he was indeed handsome, possibly even as handsome as Lord Sedgewick.

''Sam! What a crude comment.'' Edwina shushed her younger sister, embarrassed by her girlish notions.

''Well, obviously Edward knows how, you are with child, my dear sister.''

Edwina flushed darker. Rose bit her lip to stop the giggles from coming. Around them, others stared at the silly gossips, the elder generation shaking their head in dismay. The siblings shook their heads at the other. How could two people from the same blood be such a contrast. From dark hair and dark eyes, to light hair and green eyes. Thank Heavens that she was an only child. Rose craned her neck above the crowds. The men had come inside now, some nursed a beverage. She failed to see any resemblance to Lord Sedgewick, or the gentleman she had noticed playing out on the field. Most of the men had donned their wigs, dressed in their breeches, a waistcoat with short skirts, and a coat with curving back fronts.

''Word has it, that Lord Hockley has paid his addresses.'' Edwina lowered her voice as she leant into Rose's ear.

Rose shook her head furiously. ''Do not be so silly.''

''But he has set his cap at you?''

''Perhaps, he made his interests known at the Peckham's ball.'' She smiled, coyly.

Edwina's face lit up. ''And you keep such titbits to yourself?''

Rose shook her head. ''No, he has only called for tea once. It is Lord Sedgewick who has chased me most.''

''Hmm, handsome, but as most.''

''What of Samantha?'' Rose turned the attention away from herself, knowing that if she spoke of Lord Hockley any longer, she could fall asleep standing and if he knew that her conversation topic was of him then his ego would triple in size. ''Any particular gentleman you-''

''Miss. Dewitt?''

The call came from behind her, cutting Rose off mid-sentence. The voice was not familiar, but perhaps, Lord Sedgewick had found her after all. The Rowland sisters glanced in the direction. Their jaws agape with whoever the intrusion was coming from.

As she turned, she noted it was the fair head she had spotted in the polo game just a short time before. Her eyes fell on his hair; it was unwigged, unrestrained and straight, hanging in his face as though it was the latest fashion, when it was the farthest from. His skin was tan, he was obviously an outdoorsman. His attire was velvet; black and clean. Polished.

''Yes?''

Then, she found his eyes. Heavenly and blue. They twinkled more than the expensive chandeliers which adorned the high ceilings.

 _Jack Dawson..._

Her full lips parted in such a state of shock, something came out but she was unsure what the sound was or if he even comprehended it as she certainly hadn't. Her fan had fell to the floor, sliding down her skirts unnoticed.

''It is a pleasure.'' He smiled to reveal perfect white teeth. He held out his hand to her; clean. Her hand slipped into his, it was roughened from his work but firm, gentle and everything which she had imagined the night before whilst she had dreamt of him once more. His presence startled her, intrigued her but more than anything else, she couldn't take her eyes away.

''Of course.'' She found her voice. ''May I ask your moniker?'' A reminder was what she required. She could be mistaken, it was dark the night before...just candlelight to see his beautiful face...it could not have been the same person, surely? He couldn't have been a man of any importance at all.

He leant in closer to her, leaving the lingering scent of tobacco and some spice which she hadn't had the pleasure of inhaling before. He rested his lips right before her ear, not caring who took note. The close proximity of which he stood left a trail of goose bumps across her entire body.

''You know my name, Rose.''

There, just like that, he cut all formalities which she had ever known. He pulled back, leaving her heart trembling; a million butterflies took flight in her stomach and the rest of society all disappeared just like that. The clattering of plates, the voice of others fell dim in comparison to the hoarse but light sound of his voice. His lips, the curve of them were now the only thing which she could focus on.

''I do.'' She whispered, only for him to hear. ''But I need to hear it again.''

He released her hand. She protectively pulled it to her, clutching it at her waist as though it had burned to touch his skin. The smile on his face was knowing. Oh, Lord...

''Lord Sedgewick awaits the pleasure of your company it seems.'' He told her, aloud, his gaze falling upon the Rowland sisters who had stepped back in order for Rose to speak discreetly with him and he was grateful for the privacy. ''Ladies, good afternoon.'' He nodded. Together, they muttered something in return.

''Yes, of course. Thank you.''

Rose felt her cheeks reddened from his closeness. Her heart hammered in her chest and she wondered if he could see right through her. She bit her lip, nervously...conscious that eyes could be upon her foolish red face. Perhaps extra powder was needed.

''Enjoy your afternoon.'' Once more, he leant in closer so that only she could hear his words. ''I would ask you to accompany me for a walk to the lake after your stroll with Mr Sedgewick, but you appear to be a little overdressed for the occasion, nor is it midnight or in your horse shed.''

Her breath was caught in her throat. As he pulled away, he left her right there. Staring after him as he left the room. His words swam around her head and beautiful sound of his voice as he whispered to her. He said her name... _Rose_. As clear as that. As though he knew her better than she knew herself. She was dazed...under some sort of sedation.

All ladies around the room glanced as he left. Their gazes fell upon his broad shoulders and the way he walked with such a purpose. Surely, she had imagined just how handsome he truly was. Suddenly, she was aware of presence right beside her.

''Are you all right?''

She nodded quickly at Edwina, clutching onto her friends' arm. ''Yes. The heat has gotten the better of me. Mother did warn me of such things.'' She removed her hand from Edwina's arm, testing the strength of her own legs. ''I must depart to Lord Sedgwick.''

Samantha glanced after the man who had reduced Rose DeWitt to a mangled mess of nerves. ''Jack Dawson. Son of an Irish Earl and Countess, but rumoured to have been truly mothered by a whore.'' Samantha raised her eyebrow. ''Scandalous if you ask me.''

Rose felt her stomach curl. ''He is a bastard?'' The words fell from Rose's mouth before she could stop them and in shock, she placed her hands across her chest. Never once had she uttered such a crude word, especially amongst such fine company. ''Pardon me.''

''Yes. Rumour has it.'' Edwina nodded. ''He is accepted into our society because of the money he apparently has, it could be stolen, it could be inherited. Rumour also has it he's been seen working on vegetable stalls on the market. Some say, he is truly deranged. What fellow would work as a pauper when they have the funds to lavish upon themselves?''

Then something ridiculous seemed to fall into place, she just didn't know what it really was. A coin hadn't dropped for, she didn't know anything about the man. She stared, rooted to the spot, at where he had stood just a minute before and yet, he had left her trembling as though his presence was still known.

''Where does he reside?''

''That, too is unknown.'' Samantha kept her voice low. ''Some say he sleeps with the outside world, others say he has a vast mansion out of the way of prying eyes.''

''And he is unwed?'' Rose asked in a hurried whisper.

''Yes, not once has he flaunted a woman with him. He has no interest in a wife.''

Rose gazed at the door which he had left through just a minute before. Suddenly, her word was unsettled and full of so many unanswered questions which she had no business at all to know, or even ask.

''Perhaps he keeps mistresses.'' Rose offered.

''A man must, for his own needs.''

''Does he attend many of these functions?''

Sam looked to Edwina, who responded. ''Some, not all, which explains nothing of him. Truly, he is a phenomenal.'' Edwina steered Rose away with a gentle sway of her elbow. ''Be wise, Rose. Stay away from his presence. He could weaken you by a stare.''


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter five,

Caledon Hockley nursed a brandy as he sat by candlelight in the study of the Hockley manse. He was surrounded by papers, each one had very little interest to him. He looked at his pile of correspondence and compared it with the parchments which he had yet to open. It was very little. He sighed and pushed it to one side. At the moment, he was too in his cups and tired after the vigorous polo match the morn before and then very little sleep last night. Even indulging in the presence of three women that afternoon had done very little to improve his mood or his tiredness. Alone at night, he discovered that his mind pondered a little too much for his usual taste and provided a further dampener to his already foul mood.

Rose DeWitt had refused his company over that of Lord Sedgewick. It left a bad taste in his mouth already. Stepping up his plan to woo her was already on the table, but the list ended there. That had never been his repertoire. He had never needed to retort to romantic gestures, but now that he was seeking a wife and not just a lift of the skirts, he had to think.

Weekly flowers...perhaps, he should learn a song or two on the pianoforte or read a romantic novel to strike up a conversation. He laughed aloud at his own pathetic thoughts. He was a man for Christ sakes! Just why should he, for one go through such lengths for a roll in the sack? He was sure that the infatuation with her would end after he had taken her into his bed and he temporarily questioned his own sanity of wanting to truly make her his wife. Perhaps, he needed a simple woman. One who could lay there sweetly and take orders. One who could provide his children and stay home with them, no question. But he knew that he needed a challenge. The other displeasing thought was seeing Rose on the arm of another man, baring his ring and knowing another would have their wicked way with her. He sank back into his office chair, aware of just how affected by the brandy he felt. He momentarily closed his eyes before reopening them six hour later to the sight of his father, leaning heavily upon his eagle topped wooden stick, wearing his finest three piece in a burnt charcoal hue, despite his gaunt appearance.

''One hasn't seen his bed.'' Nathan Hockley puffed upon his trusted cigarette, rounding the table at which he had sat for fifty years; building the business which had made him millions. Yet, his only son had fallen asleep nursing only spoiled brandy.

''No.'' Caledon sat upright, thoroughly aching from head to toe. He pulled at his neck like an arthritic ridden commoner. ''I am a fool for not.''

Nathan tapped upon the head of his cane. ''We have to move swiftly, my son. Your return from America created quite a stir, or so I heard.''

Caledon raised his eyebrows. ''Indeed. One wishes they could stay out there.''

''Hmm, and avoid your titled responsibilities like the coward that you can be? Yes, my faith in you has diminished.''

Caledon remained silent. His jaw tightened from the anger which rose inside. He had fallen asleep, drifting over ways to woo a woman he wanted to make his wife, only to have his way with her in his bed. No other would have her. Yet, others, less entitled than he were accompanying her. He refused to allow the thoughts to roam his head any longer and he would put a plan in place once he had slept for a few hours more. A clean head was needed. A method of action.

''I have set my cap at the daughter of Lady DeWitt. She is my only prize and I plan to make her my wife before the year is out.''

Nathan leaned heavily upon his stick. His dark eyes narrowed at his son. ''Rose DeWitt? What a fool. I hear her father left them with a haze of debts.''

''It isn't so bad.'' He exhaled, knowing this would be the root of his father's issues but it was one that they could conceal if handled properly and within the allotted time needed. He stood, reaching for the bell to alert his butler to his attention. He needed a wash, a pot of coffee and breakfast. ''I contacted some creditors already. Its less than twenty thousand.''

Nathan steadily settled in the upholstered chair opposite his son. He steepled his fingers in thought. Together, they would be pleasing to the eye. No doubt, a healthy son or two could be produced from those great child baring hips he had admired from afar himself but that had been months before she had become introduced to Society.

''I see. Are you sure your intentions are honourable?'

Caledon smirked. ''Not at first.''

Nathan lowered his tone, aware that the butler may be outside. ''So, take her to bed, not to the altar and find yourself a pretty bride to wed and have children. That chit will not procreate. The girl is a redhead with a temper to boot. Her Mother was just the same in her heyday.''

Nathan remembered just how flirtatious and beautiful Ruth Bukater had been in her time, before she was wed to the son of a banker, Lord DeWitt.

''I have noted, father. She is my only choice. There are no alternatives.'' He told his father firmly.

''Well, I hope your choice is a good one. My days are limited and I want to see you at least haste to the altar before my time upon this earth is through.''

 _The DeWitt manse, some hours later,_

Thursday was the day which both Rose and her Mother allowed themselves at home for callers and now, their sitting room was alive with visitors. Tea was served at every convenience, with a constant flow of chatter and gossips. Trudy stood in the wing, her eyes settled upon Rose. Her discomfort was clear.

Dressed in a navy blue, high waisted gown, she was just stunning. The dark colour was a lovely contrast to her red hair and brought out the colour of her eyes. Her hair was piled up high, without a wisp in her face. Trudy clasped her hands together, watching as the ladies of society entertained themselves. At the start of the Season, moral was always high amongst the fair ladies and their giggles, she swore, grew higher in pitch each passing year.

A ring of the bell from the hallway caught Trudy's attention and she nodded to Rose, a sign that she was to be gone for just a moment. In response, she received a small weary smile. At least one of them would have a break from the girlish giggles, even momentarily.

She started for the hall, making her way down the long corridor as she hummed a familiar tune and straightened her aching back. She came across Ben, stood tall by the reception room door.

''Yes?''

''There is a caller in the waiting room, for Miss. DeWitt.'' Ben, the butler informed Trudy.

''All right. But she is open to callers today. There is no need to announce.''

''No, he insisted this was a private matter.''

Trudy frowned. ''And, who is the gentleman?''

Ben silently offered a card to Trudy who took it, glanced about before discreetly opening the flap of paper. ''Oh.'' She folded it neatly back up before thrusting it to Ben once more. She tapped her foot as she silently pondered a way to inform Rose of her visitor without alerting the entire party to his presence. That could be a little tricky.

''Lord Hockley sent a note just an hour ago, also. He asked that Miss. DeWitt accompany him to the lake for a stroll in two hours.'' Ben told her quietly. ''He was very adamant that she be ready for his arrival.''

Trudy nodded, knowing just how persistent Mr. Hockley could be. ''Very well. I shall ensure that she is ready and waiting for his presence.''

Ben lingered for a moment, hesitating.

''Should I send him away? The caller?''

Trudy shook her head, thrusting her hands into her aprons pocket. ''No, no, that needn't be necessary. Inform the caller that she will be by momentarily but send him to Miss. DeWitt's study on the right wing. Offer refreshments if required.''

''Of course.'' Ben clasped his hands behind his back as he returned.

Lady DeWitt was in her element as she entertained Lady Savage, her mother and three daughters. A year apart in age and so very pretty, they discussed all things from wedding to woes. Rose sat a table back, engrossed in conversation with the eldest Rowland sister, Edwina. The pair furiously cross stitched in between sips of now tepid tea and chatter of how Edwina's pregnancy was progressing. The talk was pleasant enough so that Rose wasn't bored, not yet anyway. Rose hadn't sensed Trudy's presence until a light pat upon her shoulder alerted her. Rose raised her head to the left as her abigail lightly pressed her lips near her ear.

''You have a caller, Miss. Now, your study.''

Rose raised her eyes to see if her Mother had noticed the intrusion. She hadn't. ''Lord Hockley will also call on you in one hour.'' Trudy paused. ''Perhaps, suggest you must leave in preparation for your meeting with his lordship.''

Rose nodded, placing her cross stitch on the table. Edwina had noticed how her friends body tensed as soon as her abigail had come close by.

''Everything all right?''

Rose smiled, exhaling deeply. ''Yes, of course. I must retire to prepare. Lord Hockley is on his way to accompany me on an outing.''

Edwina stopped her cross stitch, as she settled back in the chair, placing her hands across her raised stomach. ''Oh, what a wonderful man he is.''

''Indeed.''

Playfully, she wiggled her eyebrows. ''Lady Rose Hockley does ring very nicely, I must say.''

''Oh, do stop it.'' Rose stood calmly from her chair, not allowing Edwina to see just how the name left a bitter taste to her mouth and yet, she couldn't understand why. Her stomach turned with some sort of worry as she realised that she must face him. ''Please stay, join my Mother's activities. I am truly sorry for the early departure, call by next week and we shall pick up where we left off.''

''Oh, I will be delighted to.''

Rose glanced about, noting that Trudy had informed her Mother of her daughters' departure and the smile which sat upon her face was the most genuine she had seen in a long time. She knew just how pleased her Mother would be and that supper would be filled with chatter of their afternoon together as she would extract snippets of gossip from her daughter of her afternoon with Lord Hockley.

As she departed, she crossed the Aubusson rug, feeling the plushness beneath her feet before she reached the hallway and her heels clacked upon the dark wooden floors. She found Trudy in the corridor, who indicated for her to climb the stairs to her study.

''Thank you, Trudy. Have you provided refreshments?''

''No, Miss. They were refused.''

''Oh.'' Rose lifted her skirts, ascending three steps before something triggered in her mind. ''Just who is the discreet caller?''

Trudy bowed her head, quietening her voice. ''Forgive me, Miss. He asked me to not announce his presence.'' Trudy's glanced to her wasn't one to be shunned and so, even though she knew she could refuse to meet the caller alone, she didn't mind.

''Very well.'' Rose was irritated, she climbed the rest of the stairs in stomps and felt her nostrils flaring with agitation. Surprises were something which she did not take lightly to. _It is Lord Hockley,_ she feared, _saying he will arrive one hour later just to hope that she will be delighted to bathe in his presence._ She found she was alone in the hallway outside her study and proceeded to turn the doorknob with a very heavy and steady hand. It felt as though it was too stiff to turn. As she thrust the door open with such a confidence, she stilled when she saw the figure stood inside; his back to her, hands clasped at his coccyx, his head bowed as though he was in prayer. He turned at her presence, slowly and then his eyes caught hers. Blue. Intense. Striking.

Her mouth fell open in utter surprise. She said nothing, for not a word seemed to be able to form in her minced-up mind. It took a moment for her body to remember to move and she ushered herself inside her own study. The furnishings seemed irrelevant at this moment and it was as though all of the outside world had gone and it was just, he who existed. He was here within her own home.

''Mr. Dawson?''

She found the strength to speak his name. If that was indeed his name.

''Just what is so important that you felt the need to call upon me in the middle of the day unannounced and keeping your identity a secret until I reach my study and here you are.''

His lips curved in amusement. He unclasped his hands, moving them to below his stomach and raised his eyebrows in stark surprise of her clipped tone.

''Well-'' he started, before his eyes ran the length of her body as though he was mentally undressing her, but the look didn't feel so indecent. It was as though, he was struggling with something. A concern fell across her face.

''Well?''

He cleared his throat.

''I- I felt the need to apologise for my behaviour.''

Rose rounded her desk, putting some distance between them both and she pulled out her chair before sitting. She indicated for him to sit, also. Feeling the need to take the weight off her knees before she sank to them. Her hands were flat against the wood of the desk, feeling the smooth coolness of it gave her something else to think of aside from the intensity of his gaze.

''Oh?''

He pressed his lips together as his eyes shone with concern. ''You see, I was as startled by your appearance in the barn as much as you were mine.'' He wrung his hands in his lap. They were fine hands; workers hands. She removed her attention from them.

''It is quite all right. One was expecting another little chit to dally with and instead find I, a fainting Lady's daughter, that must have been disappointing for you.''

''Actually, no.''

Rose straightened her back ramrod upright. ''I beg your pardon?''

He ran his hands through his hair and she pondered whether these were signs of nerves or just regular traits of his which she hadn't noticed until now. There was very much she didn't know about him and found herself wondering just what she did wish to know. He was mysterious and she liked that, but she also felt the need to know him.

''I was not there to dally with anyone, Miss. Rose. I simply work there on my own accord. My uncle worked for your family for over twenty years.''

''Uncle?'' She narrowed her eyes.

''Yes, Zachary.''

''Ah yes.'' She had heard the name mentioned frequently amongst the hired help, it had been meaningless to her until this very day. But that didn't explain why he was at the polo match yesterday. Why he was here now, dressed so elegantly beautiful.

''He passed just last month.''

Rose diverted her gaze. ''Oh. I am so sorry.''

''Thank you. Anyway, I, I prefer to keep out of trouble and work my way through the night at times. It eases the stresses of the day away.''

Rose raised her eyebrow. ''Is that so? Perhaps a trip to the second floor of a gentleman's club would provide a stress relief more than a night in my barn with six mares?''

As soon as the words came out of her mouth, Jack felt his mouth twitch with such amusement he had to laugh aloud. Rose DeWitt was not like the rest of the young ladies he knew. She had wit and fire; he loved that. Perhaps, that was another reason he felt the need to call upon her today. They had not truly been alone yet.

''Absolutely not.'' He drawled. ''I am not the type of gentleman to pay a visit to the whorehouse.''

His confession seemed to surprise her. And she knew he was telling the truth by the sincerity in his voice. He seemed disturbed by the fact that she would make such an assumption of him, but since she knew him very little, what else could one do? No persons seemed to know a thing of the gentleman sat before her.

''Then you are the minority, Mr. Dawson.''

Her eyes were even more beautiful in daylight that he could have pictured. Their vivid colour seemed to take him to places he had never thought of and yet, she failed to look at him square in the eye for longer than two or three seconds. There was something about him that affected her, just the way she affected him. That was pleasing; perhaps more than it should be.

''Was there another reason?'' She asked, icily. ''I have callers awaiting my presence as well as Lord Hockley calling in just under an hour.''

The mention of Lord Hockley squared Jack's shoulders and his back straightened. The tense pulling in his jaw caused it to become painful.

''Has he set his cap at you?'' He demanded, his voice louder, as though he was angry with her.

Rose was taken by his sudden change of demeanour. She raised her chin. Was this a sore spot of his?

''What if he has? Would that be any concern of yours?''

Jack wet his lips with a quick dart of his tongue and again he ran his fingers through his long hair. ''I should say no.'' He exhaled, quietly, murmuring his response.

''Why would you feel it would be your concern?''

She awaited his response with a held breath. Her chest was still, he noticed this much. She raised her brows so that he hurried his response. When his gaze fell on her once more, she felt the flush of her cheeks. When he watched her, it was as though he could see into her very soul and she had never felt so fully exposed to another person in her entire life. Not even wearing much less clothing whilst in the barn. Suddenly, she remembered that she had seen this man before her half clothed; dreamt of the way he held her most nights since. Her breathing had returned and she slowly inhaled the air around her as though she struggled to remember that she needed it to survive. Her heart had started to race and she had just managed to steal the hammer of its pound. In the silence of the room, she was sure that he could hear every beat of it, perhaps even see it through the many materials of her clothing, because that was how hard it felt to be.

''Because I care of you.''

His voice broke the minute or two long silence and it was the most unimaginable response one could hope for. Butterflies fluttered, her hands shook and his gaze had not wavered one bit. He was reading her every facet; watching her responses. Examining her. Weakening her...

''Stuff. How can one care when they fail to know me?'' She dismissed his words the only way she knew how and with a wave of her left, dainty hand.

''I know you.'' He fired back, quietly and quickly. ''Since the second you fell into the barn, I knew you. I knew that there was something. A burden, perhaps. I felt it from the way you presented yourself at the polo match afterward. I watched you from afar. I saw the way your smile never reached your eyes. I know there is something which weights upon your shoulders heavily.''

Her gasp came out in almost a groan. He stood, suddenly sending a quiver across the desk. He rounded the table, coming to her even though he wasn't invited. She failed to stand, her body trembling too much to even attempt movement. He held out his hand to her, wordlessly. She placed her hand in his and felt how he allowed her to bear weight upon him so that she could stand. When she was on two feet, she turned, noting just how close their faces were. Up close, he was even more beautiful than from afar and she feared what could happen next for the first time since their meeting. They were truly alone and only Trudy knew of his presence here.

She took a shaky breath, gaining some confidence. ''Thank you, Mr. Dawson. Your study of me does appear to be quite detailed, although it couldn't be farther than the truth.''

''Really?'' His voice was soft, concerned and she couldn't help but feel he wasn't lying. Not slightly.

'Yes.''

She swallowed the large lump in her throat. Being this close to him was dangerous for the both of them and she couldn't help but feel seduced by the intoxicating aroma of him and the intensity which he brought to the air. It was as though it was heavy and she was in a trance like state which only ceased when he disappeared. Samantha was right...he wasn't good for her.

''You must leave. I have to prepare for my next caller.''

Jack visually bit his lip harshly. ''Lord Hockley?''

''Yes.''

He stepped back, just once but it wasn't what he wanted to do. He broke eye contact and she gathered her skirts as she noticed her hands were still trembling. He went to the door, his hand lingering upon the door handle. He struggled with something.

''He's not good for you, Rose.''

Rose raised her eyes to his. She laughed, pathetically.

''Oh, and I suppose you are?''

He shook his head gently. ''No. I am worse.''

And just like that, he was gone.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter six,

The Royal Academy of Art was situated at Burlington House. A beautiful building in which an exhibition was currently held. Caledon watched as Rose's gaze darted about the Great Hall. A rush of tenderness surprised him as his grip upon her gloved hand tightened. This was their fourth outing in just over a week and together, they had created something of a stir amongst their peers. Their lovely days had been spent at picnics, galas and such. The way she looked at him had improved and he couldn't help but notice the flush of her cheeks when he complimented her. He had meant them all, not just a slip of the tongue to sweeten her.

Rose returned her attention to him. ''Lady Hadley looks remarkably unhappy to see me as your escort once more.''

She indicated to an older lady; widowed and wildly rich. Her eyes would follow the pair of them at every venue they attended, green with envy. Rose hadn't taken note at first but now it was apparent that Lady Hadley had something of thing for her escort.

''Perhaps you should run away together.''

''Ah, my fair Rose,'' he murmured, wildly amused, ''your Mother did warn me of your tendency to drive a man mad.''

Her pretty mouth pursed into a tight line. ''What fun would I be without my wit?''

She was a vision in dove grey with silver thread, with black gloved hands and her hair piled atop her head in its usual fashion. She wore a little more powder than usual but as her lips parted; his noted their natural gloss and how he could kiss the freckle above her mouth.

''Every bit as lovely as you are now, but I do say, your wise mouth does render me speechless at times.''

He wished to add more upon the ends of the sentence but he knew to tread lightly. His desire for her was at a fever pitch, his blood hot and his patience far too thin. His trips to the whorehouse this week had increased tenfold just to keep the arousal at bay. If they had been alone, he would have claimed her mouth many times by now. He rolled his shoulders back as he tried to ward off the tension which had gathered there. This was not the time or place to ignite such thoughts and he had just started to be allowed into her world; he would do very little to be pushed out now. As far as he was aware, he had been the only caller allowed into her house this sennight and he was thrilled at the thought of her growing fond of him, easing his way beneath her skin slowly before he would make his swift move to claim her as his. That part would be the most pleasing of all.

''As I recall, you are the one who has called upon my presence many times this week past.''

''Indeed. My life is cold without it.''

She stopped in her tracks. She watched him, wary and unsure of his sincerity. He urged her to walk with him, needing to be in motion rather than stood still where he would admire her form and find himself instantly—well, indecent thoughts should stay at bay for now.

''I would like to dance with you.'' He smiled, squeezing her hand.

''Truly?''

''It is the only way to make restitution for giving my dance to another the night of our first meeting.'' And another way to add a block of time with her to his schedule. That had at first grown difficult but, it had been noted he had been the only one to escort her out to events this past seven days.

''I am flattered.'' Her smile was a sight to behold. ''Perhaps if asked, I may reserve a set for you at the Flander's ball Saturday evening.''

''Yes, you will. I **insist.'** '

Her stomach had yet to curl with some newfound affection.

Rose turned her attention to the portraits on the wall. In truth, she had enjoyed the Exhibition. She had not expected to as she wasn't fond of this crowd. The room was almost full and the hum of conversation was a steady but not unpleasant drone. Lord Hockley was pleasant company but above all, she found herself drawn to the artist's work more so than she could have initially thought. Colours on a canvas didn't usually call out to her so much, but this evening, she had found herself falling into quite a few of the artist's works. Perhaps, it was a welcome distraction from her own mind. Just like when she grew enthralled with her literature each night. Each one was a world away from her own and she fell so deeply into it that she forgot her own existence at times.

''Which is your favourite so far?''

''I think that one.'' He pointed to an image of a galloping horse. ''I like to feel the wind as I look at it. I like horses.''

''Hmm. '' She studied it. It wasn't ugly, but not wonderful either. There was nothing fabulous about it, overall. ''I think mine is this.''

She pulled him forward and singled out a portrait of a dancing nymph with flowing hair and ribbons. ''The skill involved in turning mere paints into an image that looks as though it can walk right off the canvas...I am awed by it.''

He watched as she fell into the painting before them. The way she watched it seemed to stir up jealous notions in his stomach which surprised even him. He was not one to develop those sort of idiotic feelings – not for a woman. It was of utter possession. The fact something drew her attention in deeper than him was unsettling.

''I am glad you came with me, and not Sedgewick.''

She squeezed his arm. ''I am, too.''

She was sure Sedgewick would have been just as pleasant for company, but she kept that snippet for herself. There was something more genuine of the lord they spoke of.

''He would have positively bored you to tears.''

''I find him charming, at times.'' Rose felt his arm tense at her comment. But she could not deny the flow of their conversation and refused to deny her attraction to any other eligible male who had flattered her with their affections also. He seemed to dismiss it. Lord Hockley's company could be a pleasure, but also, a burden. She felt no flutter in her stomach, nor did she feel a longing in any way. Even other married couples seemed to have more spark between them as they led their way across the floor at the many dances. Her Mother had noted her awareness of this vital part of the way men and women came together and had dismissed it with a flick of her wrist, insisting that it was a romantic notion. Marriage is for business, not pleasure. The pleasure is in the luxury a man offers, the children which they will gift you with.

They continued around the room at a leisurely pace, pausing every few feet to take in the many paintings occupying the many walls. After a while, they all started to grow blurry and merge together as her interest started to wane.

After an hour, Rose asked to be excused. ''Will you be comfortable if I leave you alone just one moment?''

Caledon wanted to say no. ''Only one moment.''

''Yes, my lord.''

She moved away from him. He expected her to speak with someone who she knew, but instead she left the room. He moved to follow her, wanting to ensure that she was in his line of site at all times. Lady Hadley swiftly intercepted him.

''My lady,'' he said, with an inclination of his head, realising that he now had no way of escaping her as she took his arm and led him off back to the portraits.

Rose fluttered her fan as she moved to the open French doors which allowed the night air to gently waft inside. The evening was stuffy and whilst Caledon wasn't the worst company, she could feel herself stifling many yawns. She needed air for just a moment or two to return refreshed. She failed to note the time and couldn't place just how long she had been in his company for her. She feared it was a smaller length than it actually felt. She found herself alone, as a couple she failed to recognise walked slowly passed as they retired indoors and nodded slightly a sign of 'hello.'

The night was cool but not cold and the air felt wonderful across her face. The gardens lay out before her and she recalled witnessing a croquet match out on the lawns a few years before. With that image of the area mapped out in her head, she started for the steps which led down onto the unlit lawn. Amongst nature was where she did enjoy to be, perhaps the most. A stuffy carriage trip bored her to the point where she could cry just to entertain herself. Polite conversation and exchanging of pleasantries were fine for a little while until the mind would start to wonder to a place where a refined woman shouldn't go. She knew that was the trouble with herself, the side of her which she would have to curb one day very soon as she chose a husband and allowed the man to lead her off into another life.

As she walked on, nature seemed to welcome her with open arms and hold no restrictions or judgement of her place in Society or the way she perhaps sloped her stance a little more when out in the world. What difference does it make if one slants their shoulders a little now and then? Inside, mouths would be agape with horror.

A scent of fragrance minced the air and she inhaled its delicate smell, welcoming it. Something else seemed be laced in with it...tobacco, horses and-

A hand came across her mouth so quickly that she failed to register and she stumbled into the arms of the offender, completely missing the final step and was almost carried to a conifer tree which lined the sides of the lawn just a stone's throw out of sight of the open doors.

The groan she sounded was muffled but she was immediately let go and she grasped onto the arm of her capturer until she was steady upon her feet. In the darkness, she blinked back the fear until she noted the face which was before her. Her legs seemed to buckle beneath her more than they had when his hands had come across her mouth simply from his intensity of his stare.

''I had to see you.'' He whispered, harshly, before she could even open her mouth to speak. He must have sensed her unanswered question. He held her until she was tucked away right beneath the shade of the trees and away from prying eyes which could have wondered the same way out as she did.

Her eyes were wide with surprise, confusion and above all – how did he know that she had left the Exhibition? Or in fact that she had attended the event to start with?

''Why? Why did you have to see me?''

She was mad with wonder. So many other questions lined her mind yet, they failed to come out, her tongue failed to move further. He shoved his hands into his pockets. He was fidgeting. He was dressed in evening three-piece dark grey velvet and yet, his hands were tucked away as he took a commoner's stance. A line furrowed between her brows. What was his purpose for putting his hands on her once more the way that he did? He could be locked up for the handling of a Lady's daughter. Possibly, he would be hanged for such a crime if her mother fought hard enough. Then, she realised that wasn't the reason she was shaking. He was. It wasn't anger. It was nerves. He hadn't ever hurt her, even if he had startled her.

''You are the one who said you were not good for me. I have never asked you to accompany me to any event. I have never asked you for anything. Yet, you seek me out. You find me. You-'' she struggled to breathe, she leant against a tree, her cries softening. She was agitated for unknown reasons. What did he want from her? She had forced herself to enjoy Lord Hockley's company this past week, accepting each invite which he proposed just to ensure that her mind was filled with something other than the intensity which surrounded Jack Dawson. She had forced herself to not look for him at parties, not to ask of his name or any information regarding him. She had sent Trudy away when she had paused, noting the contorted features of Rose's pretty face when she thought of him.

''You like my work?''

She blinked, confused at the change of conversation.

''Pardon me?''

He smiled softly. ''I saw you, admiring my painting. The one of the dancers.''

Rose shook her head in order to make sense of anything this evening and then it came to her. ''Tha- that was your work?''

He nodded.

''You are an artist?''

He nodded once more. She pressed her lips together, feeling just how dry they were. Her hands felt about for the cool bark of the tree behind her and she allowed herself to run her hands up it, it steadied her to concentrate on something other than him but it didn't stall the intensity. Nothing ever did. In her mind, she knew that she shouldn't be here with him and to run back to the Exhibition and report to Lord Hockley just how Jack Dawson had put his hands on her was the right thing to do, and yet, she knew that she would never tell because the meetings like this were the most exciting thing in her life. He sought her out, each time. Perhaps, she called out silently for him to find her and he always did, at the moments where she least expected it.

''I did not know.''

He smiled, weakly. 'No one does.''

''Excuse me?''

He removed his hands from his pockets, running them through his hair and he smiled, knowingly. ''I have never told anybody that I create art. I use an alias. They pay me to show it here. People admire this body of work which I created and yet if they knew the face behind it all then they would stay well clear of me.''

''Why tell me such a thing?''

''Because you liked it.'' He bowed his head. ''That means more to me than a hundred people appreciating the portrait. It means more to me than someone offering me one thousand pounds for a piece of my art. It means more than any praise I may receive from others.''

Her heart raced just like it did each time that she was in his presence. Now, she was alone in the dark. He was twice her size, and yet she trusted him more than she would any other man. His frame was hunched. She felt fooled by the man before her. Who was he? He walked amongst them all so openly as though he was welcome in society and yet, he worked in her horse stables. He had been seen working on the market. He was an artist. He was a complete unknown entity and yet she was so drawn to him like she had never been pulled before. Was it the mystery which surrounded him which caused the appeal? No, she knew that, because if he told her every single minor detail about his life, she suspected that she would find him even more fascinating than she could possibly ever imagine.

''What do you want from me?'' She sighed, failing to know what intentions he had toward her.

He came to her. His eyes bright and they sparkled beneath the dim moonlight. He stopped a foot or two away and she straightened her back, deciding that leaning against the tree did very little to show her strength. She would need the strength to face him. She had to show him the opposite effect of what he did have upon her body. She didn't need to feel heavy, to long for him to support her weak knees. She must stand; tall and steady.

'You have no idea how the moment I laid eyes on you, the world tilted on its axis.''

A gust of wind came out of nowhere and it awakened all of her senses, heightening them as though she had seen the sun for the first time in her life. Slowly, his hand came to her chin, brushing upwards to her cheek. It was roughened but yet so gentle. She longed to close her eyes and relish the feel of his hand upon her bare cheek but she knew how improper it was. If this man was to kiss her now, then she would truly fall beneath his spell. He wasn't good for her; he admitted so himself. But, if he claimed her mouth right there, then she would succumb and not push him away. She longed to feel his lips against hers. If a man was to kiss her for the very first time, it may as well be one with as much passion within as Jack Dawson.

''Breathe, Rose.'' He urged, sensing that she had stilled at the point he had touched her. ''You must breathe.''

She could only nod. She was no longer aware of her own body, of anything around her for she was cast beneath the wicked spell of his stare. Her lungs expanded once more, as though it had remembered the way to take in oxygen.

''I know what you feel, because I do, too.''

His hand moved upward, playing with a loose strand of her curls. She closed her eyes, melting against his hand, knowing that right in that moment, she was truly dazzled by his presence. Her scalp tingled as he curled her hair around his index finger slowly.

''How?'' She whispered. ''What do you feel?''

She opened her eyes, meeting his once more. She couldn't look away and neither could he. Everything blended beautifully into the background and only he existed. The one man she knew very little about and the one who she knew more than any other person who lived. The need to know something further about him was eating away but above anything, she needed to know how he felt. How he could seek her out. The words were on the edge of his tongue and about to be spoken aloud.

The power of his stare was magnificent, spell-binding and-

''Miss. Rose?'' A voice sounded, worryingly close by. ''Miss. Rose?'' It called, louder...incessantly...

It belonged to Lord Hockley.

Jack removed his hand from her face. She closed her eyes to mentally prepare herself to be sought out, so near another man but when she reopened them, Jack had gone; vanishing into the night in just a whisper. It was as though he had simply melted away into the wind like a ghost. She noticed how the air changed when he left. It was colder; clearer. She could think straight.

''There you are!'' Caledon came to her, with a purpose. His expression wasn't of concern, more anger. She straightened out her skirts as quickly as possible, ensuring that her face wasn't as flushed as it felt to be. Jack's touch lingered on her cheek, in the air around her. Where had he gone? He had melted away just like the holy ghost. Her stomach clenched with such disappointment she felt nauseous.

''Forgive me.'' She muttered. ''I needed some air.''

''I could have accompanied you.'' He shook his head, annoyance slight in his voice. ''Perhaps, a stroll around the gardens could relief some of the stuffiness.'' His suggestion was filled with hope, the need to spend a little time alone with her outside of the dreaded Exhibition.

''Oh, no.'' She allowed him to take her arm once more, claiming her as his as he led her back inside. ''Let us enjoy the rest of our wonderful evening.''

She needed to return to some normality away from the world in which only she and Jack had existed, if only for a mere minute or two.

He pulled her towards him, leading her up the steps which minutes before she had been dragged down with such a tender pull. She felt her lungs expanding as she tried to steady everything about her. She felt dizzy, tired and a sickness spread across her stomach. She stopped in her tracks, Caledon eyed her perplexed.

''Are you quite all right?''

In the moonlight, his eyes appeared even darker than they were in the daylight. As black as night. As though he was the devil himself. Something seemed to cross them now and again. A hunch. Something which told her to run away from him as far as she could possibly go. Jack said he was no good for her, Hockley seemed to be much worse. The feeling pulled at her stomach as though it was it tried to tell her something.

''I don't know-'' She narrowed her eyes, feeling them failing her slightly. Blurred...dizzy...

''Miss DeWitt?''

The air around her seemed to close in, she was falling, momentarily. She crashed into something terribly hard...stone. Cold. No words came from her mouth, just silence.

She was sore, so sore. Force came from behind. A force so much stronger than she could ever be.

And, then she was out cold.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter seven,

Lady DeWitt pounded the sitting room, her dressing gowns a trailed behind her. The Aubusson rug beneath her slippered feet should have worn out by now. The clock above the mantlepiece had told her that over an hour had passed but it seemed to deceive how much time had actually gone by. Minnie, her abigail fetched her a warmed brandy. She wasn't one to consume such a strong beverage but after the events of the evening, going into the small hours, she was entitled to several. The pacing continued as she clutched it to her chest, her knuckles turning white as she went.

Lord Hockley had returned her daughter home six or so hours before, pale and battered. She had gone to take the air outside without his knowing, and there, he had found her laid out on the stone-cold steps a while later. No one knew just how she had come to be there, but one could only assume she had fainted. He had stayed for an hour whilst the doctor tended to her but then he had left with a promise to call tomorrow morning. She had graciously accepted his presence.

 _Foolish girl._

Minnie knocked once, low upon the wooden door, sending her own thoughts scattering.

''Yes?'' She called, shrilly.

Minnie pushed the door open, her dark hair pushed beneath a white cap and her pretty features curved into a small smile. If she was beyond exhausted, she certainly didn't show an ounce of it to Lady DeWitt.

''The doctor has spoken.''

''Well?''

''She is all right ma'am. Two broken ribs and perhaps a mild case of influenza. The doctor suspects the swelling to her face will reduce by the morning, perhaps the day after next.''

Ruth paused, her hand delicately pressed to her chest. ''Very well.'' Ruth had failed to note just how inflated Rose's features were.

''She must rest. The doctor insists no visitors for at least a sennight until she recovers mildly. Her social schedule must be cleared.'' Minnie told her timidly. ''I have written word from Dr. Connor right here.'' She shoved a note into Ruth's grasp. Her sharp eyes read it quickly before she nodded. That was the confirmation which she needed.

''Thank you.''

Minnie curtseyed before she scurried out of the room. Ruth settled herself into a heavily upholstered seat to support the weight of her exhausted body. This would be the talk of the town tomorrow. Mentally, she ran over medical conditions which she could place blame upon for her daughters fainting. This was the first time it had happened. Perhaps exhaustion. She exhaled, sipping her brandy daintily. It had been a thoroughly busy week, one which had been consumed with such excitement that of course, that was the only explanation for her ailing. She was exhausted. She felt her shoulders relax a little as she took a further sip. There was nothing much more tiring than the keep up of appearances for Society; that was one thing which she herself knew.

It was just fortunate that Lord Hockley had discovered her daughter and not another soul. The chatter could have destroyed the match. Heaven Forbid if Lord Hockley began to court another notable face in the time of Rose's rest. Oh, the thought was just terrible. No, she would encourage his affections even for the duration of the sennight that Rose would remain in bed. The foolish girl would wonder outside alone and unchaperoned whilst in the presence of the most handsome man who had set his cap at her daughter.

Their marriage must go ahead. The match wasn't only pleasing to all involved but the creditors had begun to close in tighter...not enough to worry just yet, but soon it would be a disaster. A woman of her social standing was not built to handle this sort of pressure, her daughter must take some of the burden. The weight was too heavy for one to bear alone.

She was doing a mother's duty and what any other mother would do at that. At times, she pondered what a life amongst commoners would be like? To marry for love. To work for a living. To use one's hands and not sit decoratively; they seemed happy. To an extent. But what of life without money, luxuries and running water. No, they were not built for that life. Rose would fall into ruin. She must marry a man of their station, if not higher.

Once Rose had recoopered a little more, she was sure then Lord Hockley would pay his addresses and Ruth would accept them. As would Rose. She had to.

In Lord Hockley's study, Lord Harrington located the relief cabinet situated at the far left of the room. The darkened tones of the walls reflected the feelings between the two deeply. In a cloud of cigarette smoke, the pair muttered lightly between the pair of them. He poured two fingers of brandy for them both into two goblets before placing one in front of Caledon with a slow swish of his hand.

''So, Lady DeWitt sent word on her daughter's health?''

''Yes.'' Caledon took another long drag. ''A parchment reached me the hour just past. Broken ribs. Touch of influenza. A sennight bed ridden.''

Hugh tapped the end of his ash into the tray on the dark wooden desk as he rounded it, slowly. ''A lesson?''

Caledon narrowed his eyes to his friend. He exhaled, sharply. ''No.'' Sensing his friends' disapproval, he sank into his chair further. ''Yes! I know! I simply snapped.''

Hugh shook his head, taking a seat opposite. ''She is a pistol, you knew this previously. A young girl entering her first season. She is going to be wanted...needed. She is a beauty. A rare treasure.''

''Indeed.''

Hugh ran his hands through his unrestrained hair. He could feel the stresses building up the tension in his forehead.

''Are you sure it was Dawson with his hands on her?''

Caledon squared his shoulders as though sitting upright would ensure his friend's believing of his word. He wasn't stupid. Far from it. ''Of course. Even in the dark one's eye sight cannot fail me. I had consumed very little brandy.''

Hugh nodded, rubbing at his temples. ''I see.'' This would alter things.

Hugh fell silent, examining Caledon Hockley. Even he had outdone his own actions this time; by taking them into his own hands and in a very public manner. This could have gotten, or still could, spiral into the hands of another.

''What do you propose to do?''

Caledon sat upright. He had only just set one plan in motion, which was to woo Rose DeWitt, that had gone well until the Exhibition, now it had all scattered to the wind.

''I have ideas.'' He lied. He had nothing but a bitter twist of guilt overruled by the thought of Jack Dawson putting his hands all over _his_ Rose. A touch of the cheek; but more than she had allowed him to do. Oh, how his veins had buzzed with tremendous adrenaline. How he wished it was Dawson he had pushed down to the floor. His anger was wrongly aimed.

''Well, move fast before he is noticed by all. He has just as much right to walk amongst us as the rest.''

''Fustian!'' Caledon blasted. ''His Mother was a whore! It is his father who's blood he relies on to walk amongst us. His blood is half tainted by pure filth.'' He took the entirety of the brandy, allowing it to fill his belly. ''His father wasn't much better than he,'' he added, avoiding glances.

''Yes, so you tell me.'' Hugh clasped his hands together. His friend had involved himself in some situations in his life, but this was one he refused to have a hand in. ''Are you sure you remained unseen when Miss. Rose took the tumble?''

''Yes!'' Caledon narrowed his gaze. ''As I said, my anger took the better of me. She was light headed to begin with. I just-I felt the weight of Dawson's presence overcome my body and I pushed her forward. I didn't know she would fall so harshly.''

Hugh heard the tale once more and it still stole the breath from his body. Rose was an innocent young girl, without any wisdom in this world, of course, she would fall prey to the men of Society. Even Jack Dawson.

''You are the Devil in tailored clothing.''

Caledon smiled, knowingly, with pinches of slight guilt in his stomach.

''Yes, so they tell me.''

With Miss. Rose's social schedule cleared, he knew that he must keep up his appearances in public and the way of the tale to the right teller to ensure that no one knew of the truth. His Father would be the hardest one to convince but deep down, with his Father's life coming to an end, it wouldn't matter. None of it would. The entirety of the fortune would be his and as long as Rose gave him a child within one year, they would be in keeping with his plan.

He would propose marriage by the end of the week. Rose would accept and in just one month, they would be wed. A vision in white she would be. His breeches stretched thinking of it.

''Perhaps one will be indulging at the whorehouse this evening?''

''Of course. The stresses of this week have become unbelievable.'' Caledon rose to his feet. ''Would you excuse me, Hugh? I must speak with my Father before he retires.''

 _Some days later,_

Harry Scott locked up the horse shed, leaning his pitch fork just outside, leaning it against the wooden slats of the shed. Sweat lined his tan face, he wiped it away repeatedly but it still fell into his hazel eyes. His hair was drenched though and he swatted it away from his face. It wasn't a hot day but the work had broken his back twice over. He was starting to feel the strain of such heavy work for a young age take its toll but still he wore on, knowing that coin was needed to plan his future.

Lady Dewitt had left the manse in a haste forty minutes previous and so, Ben the DeWitt's butler had allowed Harry home for the day and he would be relieved of his duties until the next morning. He was far too happy, even though it meant a loss of money. He needed to bathe, to eat and to see his love. The latter made his face break into a lopsided, handsome grin.

''Goin' someplace without me?'' He heard the familiar drawl. He shook his head. He should have known that she would be about. She always was when he missed her the most. She came into his mind at the most inconvenient times. Hell! All times. Love had given him a reason to work harder, to provide for the family which he would give her soon.

''Never, my love.'' He turned, Trudy came to him. In a plain but pretty mauve dress, she was a stunning vision with her dark hair flowing freely around her shoulders.

Her hands immediately came to his face, not minding the sweat which lined it. She took it, stroking at his cheeks and then his hair. He melted against her, relishing just how much she loved him from a single stare.

''Hard day?''

''Yes. But all the better for seeing you, my darling.''

Her delicate features twisted into a sweet smile and he took her into his arms as though he was as fresh as a daisy.

''You make my heart soar.'' She pressed her lips to his cool cheek.

''I missed you. I ache to be held by you.''

Harry sagged his shoulders.

''As do I.'' Trudy muttered. ''But Miss. Rose is yet to heal fully. She has leant on me a great deal these past few days.''

He nodded, fully understanding. ''You're needed, love. Do not explain. She is your friend, not just your wage payer.''

Her heart fluttered at his understanding. Just the weekend before he had made his intentions towards her fully known. He intended to marry her as soon as they could afford to. If they put their heads together and worked hard, before the year was out, they could be wed and move away. To a better life for them both. What could be greater than that?

''That she is. But I do worry for her, more so than ever. She has grown melancholy.''

Harry took her hands in his, knowing just how much she cared for the young Rose DeWitt. ''How so? Perhaps the injuries have taken their toll.''

Trudy shook her hair. ''No, Harry. It is more than that. She will not speak to be as she used to. It is as though she has to hide something.''

''Could it be the laudanum?''

Trudy raised her eyebrows, not having thought of the strong medication which she had been ordered to take at few hourly intervals by the doctor. It had weakened her, ensured she slept for hours and consumed very little water or soup.

''Perhaps. I had not thought of that. She has been taking it an awful lot for the pain.'' Trudy bowed her head.

''I suspect that it all it could be, love.''

Harry took her face in his hands. The sight of her so worried was not one which sat well in his own stomach.

''She asks for him all of the time.''

Harry tilted his head, examining his lover's beauty.

''Still?''

''Yes. Just who is he?'' She settled against his body, sighing in a frustrated breath. Miss. Rose and she were friends. They shared their inner most thoughts of all topics but there was something which just recently, she had kept hidden.

''A lover?'' Harry suggested, low.

''No. That much I would know.''

''The members of her circle? Do they bear the first name 'Jack?''

Trudy pressed her lips together as she cast her mind back over the duration of the parties which Rose had attended since her introduction to Society. ''No, my love. I cannot recollect such a name she has once uttered, aside from the haunted dreams of hers.''

Trudy knew that she would soon be betrothed to Lord Hockley. It seemed to have been on the cards since the start. His daily meetings with Lady DeWitt were now private and taken without the need for prying eyes about. Lady DeWitt had been unchaperoned by her abigail once or twice when taking a walk with Lord Hockley about the manse grounds. From afar, one could mistake them for lovers. Lord Hockley had sent flowers; beautiful whites and pinks of all exotic assortments daily since the fall. Rose's bedroom resembled a florist and even the beautiful colours did nothing to restore the tinge of pink to Rose's cheeks. If one had been present during the doctor's attendances, one would have thought her health was diminishing and not improving.

''Is she lovesick?''

Trudy shook her head immediately. ''Absolutely not.''

Harry placed his hands at Trudy's curved waist, pulling her into him. ''Not as I am for you.''

Trudy smiled at his words. Her worries momentarily were dashed as he covered his lips with hers, slowly and sweetly so that she melted against him and the outside world simply vanished.

From atop the hill, Jack Dawson watched, his blue eyes narrowed before a shake of his head to dash away the amusement. Harry Scott loved that woman with all of his heart. That much was a certainty.

He turned away to allow them a private moment. Wearing neutral tones, his shirtsleeves were tinged with dirt from his work that afternoon. His hair blew backwards away from his face in the wind. He settled himself atop the brow of the hill which led down to the DeWitt manse. Somewhere inside he knew that Rose DeWitt rested. Over the course of one or two dinners, he had heard whispers of the tales. She had taken a tumble the night of the Art Exhibit and was found outside on the steps by Lord Hockley. That would have been the moment he had left her. Worry had coursed his veins but he had been reassured by those about him that she was in safe hands.

Jack had paid no mind to the words at first, knowing how ill-informed most chatter was. Until, the next event which Rose should have attended; her Mother had turned up truly alone. Harry had filtered back word whilst they had worked the day previous and now it was believed that Miss. Rose had developed melancholia.

Pausing as he reached about his pockets for a cigarette, he cast his mind back to just how she had reacted to him the first night of their meeting. His heart had raced right there with hers. She had yet to ask him of the story which many didn't know the full version of. Perhaps, it had never crossed her mind. He knew that he must stay away from her. His past was too filled with blood to even take her into his future, but one thing was for certain, she had to stay away from Lord Hockley. Lord Sedgewick was a better match; even with the severity of his debts. Many times, Jack had contemplated anonymously paying off the creditors of which Sedgewick owed money to, just to clear his name to give him a good chance at life with a woman like Rose. But, as he had watched them dance together from afar, his stomach had pulled with that longing for something. For her. He knew he would struggle to see her with another, even a man as good as Sedgewick could be.

A cigarette did nothing to clear the stresses of the past few days.

From behind, he heard footsteps approaching, he turned slightly to see Harry, his boots filled with mud as they came to him. He was joined on the brow of the hill a moment later. Together, they sat in silence for a few minutes. The air was cool but calming. Anticipation of some sort lingered within the air. No words were needed between the friends, for both had topics of their own which needed quiet thoughts to regain perspective.

Harry sighed, louder than the wind.

''You missing her already?'' Jack smirked, shaking his head. ''Ah, my friend in love.''

''When we wed, will you come, too?''

''I should hope that I shall.'' He turned to glance out at the rolling hills in front of them. ''You know as a boy, I would spend many hours dashing up and down the green hills back home. Nothing compares to that feeling.''

''Aye. I do miss my own home.'' There were two heavy heads sat, no relief within reach or so it would seem. ''Yorkshire is probably not too dissimilar from Ireland. A meagre upbringing. Full of love.''

''Yes, your life is blessed with love. With a beautiful young woman who adores you in return. Fully.''

Harry cocked his head, aside. ''Are you lonely?''

Jack rolled his neck about, feeling the strain of the day. ''I never once allowed myself to feel it. After uncle Zach passed, I think it may have seeped in a little. But now, I feel as though my life could be as full as another's, perhaps yours.''

Harry knew in that very second just what the turmoil in his friend's life was. Flickers of realisation had seeped in during the past few days but now it had taken him full force. Keeping it beneath wraps from both the woman he loved and his friend had grown to be a burden. How does one fool one over another? It was simply unasked for.

''She asks for you.'' Harry closed his eyes, feeling the words slowly creeping up his throat and out of his mouth. Sharing the information could cause damage, to all involved, he knew.

Jack adjusted his sitting position.

''Beg your pardon?''

Harry opened his eyes, slowly, meeting Jack's. ''I know, my friend. I know of your feelings. One doesn't simply ask of the Lady's daughter with such an interest without premediated reason.'' Harry swallowed harshly.

Jack felt as though a wound he had been hiding was now fully exposed for all to see. Perhaps he was foolish to believe Harry wouldn't notice such a thing. How could he not when he was now a man in true love himself?

''And how might that be?''

''I am not to repeat the words that I am about to say from my mouth again.'' Harry hesitated, but was encouraged by the energy which Jack seemed to have gained momentarily. ''Trudy believes that the night of the Exhibition, Rose simply didn't faint but that she was shoved from behind,'' Harry shook his head, ''one is led to believe that Lord Hockley had witnessed Miss. Rose behind a conifer, perhaps in the arms of another, perhaps simply alone, the sighting didn't sit well with him. There is talk that the offending gentleman was perhaps an old enemy of some sort. Someone who had wrongdoing with Lord Hockley in the past.''

Running a hand through his hair, Jack felt his stomach bubbling with something unfamiliar. His jaw had clenched and he noted that his fists had balled. He remained silent as Harry continued.

''The injuries sustained were far too brutal for a simple faint. Trudy speaks of bruises across her body, her face and arms. Cuts and of course, broken ribs.'' Harry noticed the utter change in his friend's demeanour. His eyes had filled with something which he had never borne witness to before in his life; perhaps deeper than anger.

''I left her when he approached.'' His deep voice was rife with exasperation. ''I left her with **him.** Alone.''

Harry placed his hands aside him on the hill.

''What?''

''I left her alone. With him!''

Grappling to his feet, Jack didn't bother to brush the dirt from his clothing as he moved with such purpose in an unknown direction, ignoring the calls of his friend behind him.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter eight,

'' _Please, Rose. Stop trying to reason your way out of this attraction. Just cease thinking.'' Jack murmured. He lowered his mouth toward hers. The approach was slow and deliberate. His grip on her was loose and without force. He was allowing her a way out of this. ''Let yourself feel everything.''_

 _She stumbled back, panting because she couldn't breathe when he was so close to her. He watched her retreat with hooded eyes. She was beyond arms reach when he caught her back and sealed his lips over hers. It was the boldness which stole what was left of her air. With one hand at her nape, the other across her lower back, he held her...taking her mouth as though she was meant to be his to claim. She sagged into him, unable to comprehend the ardour with which he kissed. His body was astoundingly hard...warm...inviting._

 _Her first kiss...her first love._

 _He loved her._

''' _I love you.'' he whispered against her wet cheeks. She shed tears of joy...for him._

''Say it again.''

'' _I love you, with all of my heart,'' he told her, his tears joining hers._

''I love you, too.''

 _I love you._

 _I love you._

 _I love..._

''Miss. Rose?''

 _No..._

Her body shook. A hand touched her face.

 _No...go away._

Trudy.

Trudy.

''Tru-'' Her voice was coarse, so very dry and came out as a croak. ''Trudy?''

Heavy eyelids flickered open. One and then the other. A groan left her lips as she felt the throb of her ribs as she tried to move her body. Her eyes refused to focus, instead everything before them appeared so very blurred. She was disoriented.

''Jack-'' she reached out blindly for something; the figure which roamed about beside her. It was him, wasn't it? It had to be.

''No, my dear.'' Trudy soothed, fetching a dainty hand to touch Rose's forehead. It was warm. ''It is just me.''

''Oh,'' Rose relaxed, allowing Trudy to feel her face. She didn't waft her away as she had for the previous three days. Perhaps, that was a start. The start of her recovery? No, just the beginning of her reasonability. Trudy felt her guard slowly come down, just the first layer and she relaxed for the moment.

Rose's beautiful face had paled. She was gaunt, tired and perhaps even more melancholy than first anticipated. After much thought which had kept her awake during the entirety of the night, Trudy had taken the decision to take matters into her very own hands regarding the name which Rose had whimpered most nights. A risk to all; yes. But indeed, something which she felt could be a benefit to all.

''Miss. Rose?''

''Mmm,'' she muttered lightly in a response, her hair against the pillow, spilling out in a mass of directions.

''Come, let us sit you up.'' Trudy placed a hand upon Rose's shoulders to support but she didn't move. ''Come, Rose.'' She ordered, as forceful as she could manage.

''I cannot,'' she murmured, holding onto the offending rib. Her night rail was entangled around her legs, which were bare to the warm air of the room. Sunlight came through the windows, allowing in unwanted light.

''Yes, you can.'' Trudy urged.

Rose wafted her free hand to the abigail.

''What point is there, Trudy? For what does life hold for me?''

Trudy felt the determination in her stomach spring out of her mouth before she could stop it. ''It holds your Jack.''

For a moment, Rose's heart seemed to cease beating, her breath was caught in her lungs and her thoughts stuttered as though she had taken a blow to the brain. A simple sentence was suddenly difficult to string together.

''Jack?''

Trudy blinked. ''Yes.''

Blue eyes opened slowly, carefully. She blinked them several times. Her focus adjusted to the morning light which spewed from her ceiling to floor windows. Her lips were dry but with a quick dart of her tongue, she moistened them. Her vision had cleared. When she glanced about, she noticed the room full of flowers but failed to even note anything past that as Trudy came into her sight; her face as pretty as an angel, guarding her every day.

Trudy poured water into a goblet before placing it on a table beside the bed ready to be consumed shortly. Silently, with one hand, she placed it beneath Rose's armpit, supporting her weight in order to aid her into a sitting position. Once she was comfortable, Trudy arranged the pillows about her. On the table, beside the bed sat a box of pills, Trudy selected the two which Rose was to take to reduce the pain and she held them out in the palm of her left hand to her friend to take, along with a goblet of water. Rose shook her head just once.

''Rose?''

''No, Trudy. I wish to no longer be—under the influence of such pills.''

Trudy relaxed her palm.

''Oh?''

Rose squeezed her eyes closed, she reached out for the goblet of water. She winced through the pain in her side, tightening her grip upon it but sheer determination helped her momentarily. The water was downed in two or three seconds. She held onto the goblet as her eyes wandered about the room as though she had just seen daylight for the first time ever. It hurt her head, her eyes and her entire body felt a hundred years older than it actually was.

The days had melted into each other in a blur of—nothing. Dreams had felt a reality, but only now had she realised that they were indeed just visions of her subconscious.

''Do you feel I am a bit touched?'' Rose asked, quietly.

''No, Miss. Rose. I never did. Just a little lost is all. That is something which we can remedy over time, but I beg of you, please open your heart to me, just as I have to you, my friend.''

Trudy worried her lower lip between her teeth.

''My life is not one which you wish to delve in too deeply.'' Rose clasped her hands together across her swollen ribs.

Trudy's frown deepened. ''Why ever not?''

Rose inhaled slowly, feeling the pain as she did so. She squinted, as she recalled the past events. Her mind had fell about a haze which found it hard to dissuade truth from fiction. Reality from her own dreams. Her last known vision of Jack had been at the Exhibition before her fall. He had taken her face within his hands in a moment which she had never wished to end. That moment was one which she would carry with her. His eyes of such beautiful blue which had borne into hers, stealing her of every breath. He could have kissed her...his lips could have moved against hers and nothing else could have mattered. He had cast her under such a wicked spell that she failed to see beyond the corners of his world. Even after the fall, he was all she had thought of. Dreamt of. Wanted. Needed.

''He is no good for me, he told me so himself. Yet, he lacks the power to stay away.''

Trudy parted her lips, her stomach soaring. She was talking. For the first time in a long time, Rose was opening her heart.

'''He is unmarried. Handsome. With exquisite hands.'' A half smile curved her mouth for the first time in a long time. Her glance moved to Trudy who came beside the bed, pulling at the counterpane before settling herself beside Rose. ''With Jack Dawson I am swept away. In control of nothing at all. It was a heady sensation to be lost in a man and yet, he was equally lost in me.'' A rueful smile lifted her lips. She was unable to stop her hands from touching it. ''Every sense is awakened.''

Trudy paused, her gaze flicking over Rose. Her posture had straightened, her hands less clenched together. Something about her had changed within those few seconds of thinking of this man.

''You love him?'' It was a question, but it felt like a statement.

Rose shook her head. ''What is love, truly? Does one ever know? But I fear he has bewitched me, just as Harry has you.''

''I love Harry.'' Trudy assured Rose. ''I know that, my friend.''

''Yes, and you have allowed him to take the prized piece of you which you should only truly offer a man after matrimony.'' She turned to Trudy, her cheeks red for the first time in a long while. ''Do you feel as though that was wise?''

Trudy smiled. ''Yes.'' She nodded. ''He is my only.''

Rose turned her head to the flowers which lined her entire bedroom. Different colours, varieties of which she had never seen and countless cards all bearing the same parchment paper. ''Lord Hockley was keen to send his well wishes?''

''Yes. He is a man of expensive taste in bloom.'' Trudy raised her brows, the scents of the flowers were now familiar to her, having arranged each basket neatly and tended to them daily with water and sugar.

''I see that.'' Rose clutched her hands to her chest. She noted there was no notes from a familiar name upon the table bearing the sympathies.

''He hasn't called?''

''Who?''

''Jack Dawson?''

Trudy slowly shook her head. That had been the one name card which she had looked for during Rose's bedridden days. Not once had she heard of the man call by, send a word in any way.

''I had never once heard of that name until you told me of his existence.''

Rose turned to her, slowly. ''Oh, but you have. Your discretion allowed him to visit my home.''

Trudy searched for the name within her mind, so scrambled from the week's events that it took just one flicker to remember just the name which had been scrawled across a calling card one Thursday afternoon. Dawson. Her hands came to her face. She had met the man before! Goodness...

''Yes, of course.'' A change came over her, one of a steely resolve. ''My goodness, Rose...forgive-''

Rose held up her hand, signalling Trudy to cease speaking.

''No, my friend. Never apologise for that. His presence is very stifling that it causes such fright to me and yet, I have never felt so utterly dashed of my own thoughts.'' She whispered, almost breathlessly. ''He makes me alive, Trudy.''

''Yet, you allowed him-''

''He found me. He was always within my reach.'' He was almost mythical to her in the way he just appeared out of the wind and disappeared just as quickly.

Trudy stood from the bed, clasping her hands at the small of her back.

''Tell me of him, Rose. Whilst I help to bathe, wash your hair and apply some powder and rouge to lessen the fright of your discolour. We must begin your return to regularity.''

With some form of newfound strength, Rose regaled Trudy with the tale of Jack Dawson, and her friend listened, intently.

 _Lord Hockley's gentleman's club,_

''What the devil are you doing in my club?''

Lord Sedgewick looked across the massive mahogany desk into the sharp eyes of Lord Hockley. They were almost black, just as they always were when narrowed at him, the way a headteacher did a naughty schoolboy.

''I-I must find a-friend.'' He stated, lifting his chin in defiance. He could not be made to feel a fool by the man any longer. Not as he once had.

He arched a black brow. ''A message left with the doorman would have been simpler.''

''I tried, sir. They refused to take such a message.''

Lord Sedgewick wished to pull at the odd black wig which sat atop his head in a failed attempt at going incognito into one of the gambling houses he had been made exempt from months previous. He refused to allow more embarrassment by scratching at the damned thing. It hadn't even belonged to him, that was the worst thing, but as a means of desperation, he had applied it and now felt foolish.

''Dressing as you are was a very original touch. One which has drawn more attention to your abysmal existence.''

Lord Sedgewick bowed his head. His lips were dry and cracked. ''How else could I gain admission?''

He resisted the urge to flee. He would not. He was a man with as much social standing as Hockley, but as Lord Hockley rose from the desk and rounded it, he could not help but bow his head a little, like a misbehaved dog about to be scolded by its owner. The length and breadth of his shoulders almost doubled his own.

''One could pay his debts as a man should.''

Lord Sedgwick lifted his head, his light eyes meeting Lord Hockley's darkened ones. He had once called Sedgewick a coward and that word resounded right there in his mind just as it had done for many years. He couldn't still be that man who he had once been. A boy who felt overpowered by all around him. He had rights, the same ones Hockley had and he wouldn't show an ounce of fear.

''My lord, I-''

Hockley watched with a tiny amount of pitiful sympathy. He backed away from the younger Lord, not intent on thoroughly frightening him until he had heard all that he did need to hear.

''Or, my dear old friend, we could strike up a bargain of some kind.''

Lord Sedgewick blinked, perhaps he was misheard. ''I beg your pardon?''

Lord Hockley went to the relief cabinet. He knew that spirits were another of Lord Sedgewick's weaknesses. He was a feeble man. One who would become a pushover husband. His backbone had squandered at some point over the duration of the past few years and whilst other men his age were falling out of carriages after tumbling with older widows, Lord Hockley suspected that Lord Sedgwick was yet to take a woman. Like that of his brother. The brother which he was once so protective of, one which he knew he would lay out his life for, just as he had before. Or perhaps, there could be a wedge lay between them, one which he could gain access to the thoughts which were in Sedgewick's head and mess them around slightly. Make him a stronger man, which by all means was what he needed to be in order to survive in this world. Weakness wasn't a good look for a man.

''I have received word, my lord.'' Hockley addressed him as a peer, not a commoner, as he felt he should.

''Of what, Lord Hock-''

''Call me Caledon, I think we are better acquainted that you would like us to be, but that is in fact the truth is it not, Will?''

After Caledon had used his given name, Will bowed his head once more. The wig itched too much and with one grasp he ripped it from his head and thrust it into the chair beside him. He tugged at his hair to neaten it and failed miserably.

''Yes, Caledon.''

''Good man.'' He poured two fingers of brandy into one goblet and slightly more into the second. He sensed the anticipation of the bargain and what the terms would be. Caledon was known for making deals with the Devil himself, as they turn out to only benefit him. The linger of it in the air made Caledon practically giddy with the coming together of such a plan in his mind. A long while had passed since he had last formed such a great plot. It was hard to not celebrate already just how well this could go.

''Now, about the terms of this.''

''Yes?'' Will came to the edge of his seat. His hair in a disarray from the removal of the God-awful wig which he had sported upon arrival.

''Eager man.'' Caledon examined. ''I could use you.''

''One could only wonder what use a man of my station could be to one of yours.''

Cal waved his hand. ''Oh, nonsense, my lord. You are just as entitled as I, perhaps, one could even say your position is quite a fascinating one.''

''I don't follow.'' Will shook his head, confused.

Caledon handed the brandy to Will. His smile, knowing and almost urging.

''Oh, you will.''

Will swigged from the goblet. He hadn't touched the harder liquor in so long that it burnt his mouth and stomach right away but again, he refused to show any weakness to the man before him. He had started to feel the strength from somewhere in his stomach.

''Then, please enlighten me, or I shall be on my way.''

''Oh, you see that is the thing, my lord. You will be detained until you agree to such terms.''

Will laughed nervously. ''I don't think that will be necessary. My Mother knows of my whereabouts, she will send-''

''Your Father?'' Caledon cut him off right there when he was far more amused than he should have been. ''Could he come and help you out?'' He placed his hands upon his mouth, feigning surprise. ''Oh, no, forgive me. Lord Jon Sedgewick was mercifully murdered was he not just a number of years ago whilst protecting his loving son?''

Will swallowed back the anger which he knew would rise by just being in the presence of Caledon Hockley. This was what he had been waiting for. This very moment right here. The burn of it had been suppressed for some time now, but it was threatening to rage once more.

''You best watch your tongue!''

''For what purpose?'' Caledon settled back into seat. His study was surrounded by parchments, name plaques, books and awards; all of which were to supposedly shape the man to be an important one, when in fact, he couldn't be more wrong.

''Your Father's act of bravery towards your brother is the one what killed him, is it not?''

Will swallowed the full goblet of brandy before he stood, sending the chair he was sat on backwards. ''You shut your mouth!'' His eyes glowed with something unseen. Anger. Torment. Rage. It ignited a fire within Caledon he had not felt for such a long time and he welcomed it. Truly. This was magical; the flames within Lord William Sedgewick had become ignited once more. He had once, many moons ago, fought with his half-brother over a father which they had shared but one event had led them to stand together. William Sedgewick had shown an act of bravery, when a swordsman had attempted to take the life of his younger brother, taking a stab to the shoulder and leaving him bed bound for a long length. His brother had attacked, leaving the masked swordsman for dead. But it was the same swordsman who had come back for revenge months later, only when it had come between the life of Lord Sedgewick or his brother. Their father had picked the brother.

What a story amongst peers it had become.

''Lessen your voice and pin back those ear holes of yours, my friend.'' Caledon's eyes flared. ''You will not raise your voice to me in my club or you will leave it, if you do, dismembered of some limb, do you understand me?''

Will said nothing as his fist and jaw clenched tighter than he had ever felt it. He was not one for rage. He hadn't been since that night so many years ago. The wounded shoulder still visibly scarred him to this day and each time he undressed he was forced to face the events of that evening. The one which changed the course of events both to his own life and to his widowed mother.

''What do you want from me?'' His voice was low, dark, somewhat calmer.

''Your help.''

''Caledon Hockley never asks for help.'' He spat.

Caledon nodded his head. ''True.'' He took a sip of brandy. ''I think you and I are much more alike in more ways than you may think.'' He smirked. ''You care for Rose DeWitt, do you not? I see you dance with her, the doe eye you become.''

At the mention of Rose DeWitt, Sedgewick stood from the chair which he had been thrown into after his discovered in Hockley's club. What could this possibly have to do with Lady DeWitt's fair daughter. His anger ceased just for a moment at the mention of that name.

''Yes.''

''Good.'' Caledon stood from his own seat. He rounded the table slowly, like a cat about to pray on another mouse but first he must play with it.

''Then, what does she have to do with this?''

Caledon sipped his brandy, taking it all down in one swoop before placing his goblet back upon the desk.

''My bargain comes with a chance to redeem yourself to society, to me, and it will give you a better chance with Lady DeWitt's only fair daughter.'' Caledon paused, as he lit a cigarette, it seemed to take him forever to continue as a cloud of some surrounded him. ''Oh, and it also comes with revenge on your brother, our old friend Jack Dawson.''


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter nine,

A mere four days later, Rose had attended the first ball since her fainting spell. Lord Hockley had expressed his deepest apologises at not been able to accompany her and so, she had gone with her Mother. Her eyes were alive all night, mostly alert for fear of failing to notice if Jack was gracing the Pemberton ball with his presence; he did not.

After returning home at ten o' clock, she had stayed in. One was perfectly content to read the various renditions of last night's events in the gazettes, having previously come to the conclusion that the printed tales were often more entertaining than the reality.

''Rose.''

Glancing up, she smiled as her mother entered the room.

''Yes, mama?''

Ruth rounded the long wooden table, her yellow skirts swishing behind her. If she was pleased with something, she failed to project such emotion outwardly as a small frown buried beneath her brows. ''Lord Sedgewick is here to see you,'' she said, pausing beside her daughter.

''Oh?''

''He has expressed his interest in paying his addresses to you.''

Rose blinked up at her mother. ''Beg your pardon?''

''He wants to wed you. And speak with you. He awaits you in the parlour.''

Rose folded the paper carefully, her thoughts rushing forward and stumbling all over themselves. With her brain arrested by such confusion, her attention moved to the delicate lace runner that bisected the table. Her gaze slowly shifted to the brass candelabra that stood centrepiece. The antique piece was surrounded by a ring of pink roses. Ruth cleared her throat and Rose pulled her chair back from the table.

''It is a well thought out match. An advantageous one. Although Lord Hockley has set his cap at you.''

''Absolutely,'' Rose agreed, linking her arm with her mother and allowing herself to be led toward the door.

''Lord Sedgewick is handsome, and widely respected.'' Ruth went on. ''Perhaps not as wealthy as we may have hoped.''

''How do you feel of this, mama?''

Rose knew of her mother's preferred choice of Lord Hockley as a son in law. Despite this, Ruth was breezy as could be.

''Oh, my Rose, this is no longer of me, but of you, too.'' She paused, to correct a picture which was lopsided, before taking her daughter's arm once more before thrusting her on to the hallway. ''This is not just for our survival but of our future. Sedgewick is known for his gambling, keep that amidst your thoughts.''

Rose pressed her lips together.

''Yes, but it is so sudden.''

''Nonsense. I wish you happy, dear.''' Ruth kissed her daughter's cheek tenderly. ''You must keep in mind our situation. Now, go, do not keep him waiting.''

Rose set off on her own toward the front of the house. It was late enough in the day that the sun no longer shined directly through the glass around the front door. The familiar stillness of her home was unusually comforting but today it emphasised the disturbance created by Lord Sedgewick's visit.

As she entered the formal parlour, Rose collected that Sedgewick's reason for visiting wasn't the sole cause of her unease. His physical presence was palpable. His person fairly crackled with a vibrant energy.

''Miss. Dewitt.'' Sedgewick stood. He was tall, perhaps as tall as Jack Dawson, although not as broad or muscular. If pressed for a description she would call him ''elegant'' or ''dashing.'' ''You are radiant.''

''Thank you. I should return the compliment, also.''

He grinned. ''How are you? I hope you're well. You were missed about town last night.''

Rose chose to sit in the pale-yellow velvet wingback facing the doorway. She lowered herself into the seat and smoothed her floral-patterned muslin skirts. Lord Sedgewick settled opposite her with a practised grace, a man of understated power and privilege. She would put his age at around twenty-four.

''I am well,'' she answered, ''I stayed in by choice, not due to any malaise. I don't enjoy the events of the season as much as others do, I suspect. Mama is a social butterfly.''

She mentioned her sentiments deliberately knowing that Sedgewick would need an accomplished hostess for a wife if he hoped to achieve his political and social aims, that was the opposite of her.

''Not surprising,'' he said, ''considering what a danger they have become to you.''

''Excuse me?''

''I am aware of the nature of your fall. The talk that it was indeed Jack Dawson who pushed you.''

Rose was too startled to blink. ''Oh.'' If that was the gossips, then she hadn't been kept abreast of it. She tried to ignore the flutter of her stomach at the mention of his name.

''Indeed.''

''I was not aware that the place of blame was suspected to lie with Mr. Dawson. If you are aware of the fact that Lord Hockley was in my presence as I tumbled-'' she paused, wondering just how much information he was privy to. Considering he was offering marriage, she suspected he was aware of more than she was comfortable with. ''I appreciate your concern, I assure you.''

He paused as the tea service was brought in and placed between them. He eyed the small, white capped servant with appeared astonishment. The housekeeper was tall and as slender as a reed, her arms seemingly too frail to support the weight of the heavy service.

After she left, Sedgewick relaxed.

''My intention is to help you and your family. And of course, myself.''

''By offering to resolve a temporary problem with binding me a permanent one?'' Rose turned her attention to the preparation of the tea.

''You just called me a permanent problem?''

''No, not you, forgive me, my lord.'' She corrected herself as she measured the tea leaves. ''Marriage to you. We know very little of each other and if we were to consider what we do know, I doubt we would find ourselves to be aligned.''

''I know I am appreciative of you, you family, too.''

Taking more time and care than needed, she balanced a strainer atop the lip of a cup. Her mind was focused on identifying just how he knew of her association with Jack the night of the Exhibit. If only one could find out just how to reach him. He was a man who seemed to vanish into thin air. One who sincerely, if it wasn't for the sightings, she would have thought him to only exist in her own mind. She knew she shouldn't take the matter lightly, but she found herself making excuses for Jack. Attempting to find a mitigating circumstance that she could accept. Perhaps, he had good reason for sharing their intense secrets to someone, who had taken another interpretation out of what had indeed happened that night. It was difficult to decide whether she was showing good faith or poor judgement.

''I understand my desire to remain unencumbered by marriage is incomprehensible to most,'' she finally said, ''all young women of my age are expected to select a husband as they would a new bonnet or pelisse, because a spouse is as necessary to a female as outerwear or a new frock. But I need no support. Frankly, my lord, I don't see what use I would have for you personally.''

''No?'' His mouth lifted on one side in a manner which most women would find appealing. ''You would be free of the plague of suitors, including Hockley who is becoming impatient. Dawson, is another. He is blinded by his own personal motivations. You must wed safely to someone who you can trust. One who can offer you responsibilities.''

''I dislike talking in half measure, my lord. I lack the talent to translate and decipher.'' She took a sip of tea. ''Mr. Dawson has never expressed an interest in my hand, nor does he know much of my circumstance. I should like you to speak bluntly and openly.''

Rose chose not to elaborate on what those circumstances might be, because she still wasn't certain how much Sedgewick knew of any situations. If he was aware of more than necessary then she would be indeed speaking with Mr. Dawson herself. Perhaps that explained the address of Sedgewick. But what would motivate him so?

Waving off her offer of sugar, Sedgewick stirred his own tea with a metal spoon. ''I am not being completely altruistic. You are sensible, beautiful-''

''I am not the only female to meet that criteria.''

''You are wealthy, intelligent, determinate-'' he continued, ''you have sufficient breeding, but come unencumbered by tiresome, troublesome or expensive siblings. You speak your mind and force me to speak mine. What more could I ask for?''

''Desire. Elevated feelings?''

She could tell by the momentarily blank expression that her first suggestion took him aback. However, she felt the question was warranted by his offer.

''I would rather commit to an individual. The rest shall come. Sentiments are to be expected after a time.''

Rose narrowed her gaze at him, trying to retain a manner of a lady. ''That isn't why you make this offer. You see this opportunity in me, yes. But finding a suitable wife is not at all what you want.''

Sedgewick straightened. Although his gaze didn't narrow, his focus did. ''What else could it be?''

''Perhaps you seek a shield, a barrier. Someone to deflect the attention from you. Perhaps there is a painful hole in your life that you must fill.''

''Well, that is imaginative. I must add that to your list of attributes.''

The sounds of masculine voices in the foyer drew Rose's attention to the open parlour door. a moment later, Ben appeared with a calling card atop a salver which she didn't look at. She glanced at the clock on the mantel. No one else was due to stop.

She nodded at the butler in a silent acknowledgement to allow to caller in. Perhaps, the presence would dampen the serious chatter with Sedgewick and allow her a moment to cool. The afternoon certainly had taken a turn for the absolute strange.

''I apologise, my lord. I have no indication of just who-''

Her eyes turned and locked with blue.

Jack Dawson appeared in the doorway. Her fingers linked ever so tightly in her lap. For such a large man, he moved with an effortless silence. His attire was notably understated, comprised of shades of grey. His Hessians were polished to a shine revealing the lustre of his gleaming hair. He stood with a widened stance, a position which emphasized just how solid he was. He drew to a halt just inside the threshold, looking at Sedgewick in a way which said he wasn't surprised to see him there.

Rose knew, from that moment, that all relationships were irrevocably changed. Although Jack was dressed from his neck to his toes, in her mind's eye, she saw him just as he was that first night; relieved of his shirts, dishevelled.

Their last meeting, he had been so open, so willing to bare his thoughts and feelings even when she didn't understand them or what they meant to her. They had barely spent more than a mere few moments together but, as he stood, his unbreakable gaze upon her, she knew that he felt exactly what she did. The knowledge of that hidden side to him created a nearly unbearable yearning. A part of her believed she ''knew'' him. It was not reasonable for her to feel thusly, considering how little about his life and past was known to her. But it wasn't her mind making the determination.

From the way he was looking at her, he was remembering the night they met, too.

''Miss. Dewitt.'' Jack bowed, his voice lingering in the air for a moment. He straightened and pivoted to face Sedgewick. ''My lord.''

''Dawson.'' Sedgewick stood. ''Just how fortuitous your arrival is.''

''Is that so?'' Jack eyed Rose. ''Why?''

Rose understood from his low tone that he was in a volatile mood. One which she knew was unseen by her own eyes. She hesitated a moment before answering, unsure how to relay the events of the afternoon.

''Lord Sedgewick has come to offer his assistance.''

Visually, there was no change in Jack's countenance, but his clipped response spoke volumes. Jack crossed his arms.

Sedgewick smiled. ''I am simply following through with what I believe may be the best all-around for Miss. Dewitt. Seeing her wed might resolve the problems of everyone involved. Mr Hockley would back away-''

''Wed to whom?''

''To me, of course.''

Jack shifted slightly, in the manner of a stirring beast. Rose was uncertain of what was transpiring between the two. She was unsure if the two were even acquainted. She kept her own counsel.

Sedgewick's smile started to fade at the silence faded out.

''Have you answered him, yet?'' Jack's voice was low, but demanding, if only to her.

''Not yet.''

He uncrossed his arms, allowing them to fall to his side to clench fists. ''Why the delay? Sedgewick is suitable in every way.''

Rose stiffened against a sharp pain in her chest, she lifted her chin. ''Perhaps, I was looking for your endorsement, Mr. Dawson.''

''Damned if I will give it to you.''

Rose blinked. Sedgewick was equally stunned. ''Now, listen here, Dawson-''

''What is your answer, Rose?'' Jack stared hard at her.

She looked at his hands, noting the whiteness of his knuckles as he gripped his biceps. She forced herself to look away and give Sedgewick her full attention. Her fingers were linked so tightly, they hurt. Even lacking refinement in social graces, she knew that what she was about to do was wrong in many ways, but she also knew that Jack needed to hear this as well. He required it aloud, with a witness.

''As honoured as I am by your address, I must decline. My feelings are engaged elsewhere.''

Sedgewick's brows rose.

''Right, then,'' Jack said, breaking his stillness. ''Out you go, I will come and see you this evening. You and I have matters to discuss.''

Sedgewick stood, his brow furrowed. ''My offer will stand through the end of the Season, Miss. DeWitt.'' He turned to Jack, his face took a hardened cast. ''As for you, Dawson, we do indeed have matters to discuss.

Rose was vaguely aware of holding her hand out to Sedgewick who lifted it to firm lips and kissed the back. She might have said something inane, but he had as well, but she was taken aback by the intensity with which he stared at her, that she missed the rest. He offered her a searching look, one she couldn't answer and then he was gone.

As soon as he left, she was alone with Jack Dawson. Her legs took her to the chair. His presence filled the air with such stuffiness that she failed to remember to breathe once more. Her life seemed to bounce from one complication to the next.

''Rose.''

''What did you tell him? He thinks of you to be the one to be the source of my injuries.'' Her head lifted so that she could see his face, then lowered as he sank to one knee in front of her. Her heart thudded violently. Her free hand fisted in her lap. He urged her to relax by gently prying open her fingers. His touch was magic to her.

''The only thing he knows is the horse shit which Hockley has filled his head with.''

She wanted to ask more, but she knew not to at this moment. It was the first time, they were truly alone with time to spare.

''I used my association with him to attend some of the parties. I needed someone who had invites so that I could gain entry to the ones I wasn't invited in to.''

''Oh?'' As he massaged her palm, the tingles that coursed up her arm weren't entirely due to the returning flow of blood. ''You didn't know he intended to-''

''No.''

''I thought that perhaps you had sent him. To protect me from you. To stop you from finding me. If I was another man's wife-'''

''I am not that selfless. Nor would I tell our brief time together to another. The memory belongs only to us, and I would never share it.''

She swallowed hard. ''Yes. Why are you kneeling that way?''

A slow, self-deprecating smile curved his mouth. ''If I was able to secure your mother's blessing, would you have me?''

'' _Jack.''_ A warmth came across her body.

''He is right. It would solve many problems. I would have greater access to you, Hockley would have no access. We would have more time to-''

''We hardly know one another,'' she protested, while a rush of warm and sweet feelings tightened her chest.

''We have honesty and desire.'' He brought her hands to his lips and kissed the knuckles. His eyes were bright, his words delivered with heartrending earnestness.

''You have good standing and breeding; I work in trade but I have the funds to pay the debts left by your father, and my blood is worthless. Half of it is. But I would spill it all over for you.''

Rose sucked in a shaky breath. ''What are you saying?''

''Marry me.''

She choked out a laugh. ''But I don't want to marry.''

''But you want me.'' Jack reached up and cupped her nape, his thumb stroking across her throbbing pulse.

''Why can't I have you without a ring? Who are you? I don't know you?'' Her words came out a rush amidst the chaos of feelings which came at her.

He snorted. ''Only you would want to be a mistress.''

''But-but, I don't know how to be a wife. To be anything that you need.''

Jack shook his head. ''Other men will line up and ask for your hand and claim rights to you that are mine. Your heart is with me, I know that.''

She didn't deny as much.

''What of when the Season is over-''

''Our relationship will not be. You don't see it yet, but you are visibly changed by what transpired between us. The heat which surrounds us. The more I see you, the more we both desire more. Others can see it, too. They feel it. Other men will be drawn to that awareness in you.''

She absorbed his words, startled to think that the lush languidness she felt might be obvious to others. She studied Jack for signs of change. For a sign, that he too, was as bewitched as she.

His mouth curved. 'I am down on one knee. If that isn't a reflection of my feelings, then what is?''

''You don't want to marry. You have no place for a wife.''

''I can make a place.'' His touch moved downward to cup her cheek. ''I have been lonely for so long that it is the norm to me. And, one day soon I intend to sit with you, regale my entire history and hope that you still want me in some way to be in your life. See, I have always feared it, but no longer.''

She gripped his other hand tightly in her lap.

''Perhaps it would be best for both of us if we went our separate ways and resumed our lives as we knew them.''

''Rose.'' He made a frustrated noise. ''Don't make me list the reasons of everything like others would. I want you.''

''I know.''

''I can make you happy.''

An odd sort of delight bubbled within her. Like champagne, it made her slightly giddy. ''I'm not as confident in my ability. Most people find me aloof, quiet. I am proficient with the pianoforte, I am a terrible singer, dancing bores me to tears-''

He laughed, leaning forward so that their faces were a mere inch or so apart. It stole the breath from her. ''I care not. Tell me truthfully, does your lack of fortune create an obstacle between us?''

She shook her head without hesitation. ''No, but how do-''

''It's not hard to find information like that. I ask these things. I can repay twenty-three thousand tomorrow to the creditors. That will be cleared. The rest of what you have will be yours alone. I ask for nothing in return.''

''But-''

He knew in that moment what she was about to ask. He knew he could no longer hide from her. He could only hope that she could see past his introduction to life.

''My father was Lord Jon Sedgewick. My mother Maeve Dawson.'' He bowed his head. ''My father was married to his wife, the countess, for many years, they had one son; a boy named William. In the lonely years of his marriage, both he and his wife took lovers. My father had an extramarital affair for ten years with my mother. I was born and my existence was a secret until his death four years ago. I have lived in Belfast for a large quantity of my childhood.''

''Jack-''

''My mother and father were very much in love. He was very much a part of my life even though he could never wed my mother. His death affected me greatly. My uncle Zach took me under his wing after that.''

Rose was silent. Suddenly, she gained clarity of the man before her. ''You and William Sedgewick are brothers?''

''Half, yes.''

''Cut from the same cloth?''

He nodded. ''My father left us both a split down the middle amount of money when he was killed. Sedgewick squandered his away in the casinos. I barely spent a penny.''

''So, that's why you are invited to the events of society?'' It was all so clear now.

''In part, yes. The gossips are rife. Most do not know the true story, nor will I ever correct them.''

''So why must you stay away from me?'' She felt the doubt of what he had said to her previously come to her mind. ''Why the change now?''

He smiled, beautifully, cocking his head to the left as he examined her worry. ''I changed my mind. I am no more dangerous for you than I am without you.''

''If I agree, it is to something I have no knowledge of. Perhaps I will change my own mind.''

Jack got to his feet, his powerful stance overwhelming her as he helped her to stand too. She feared her own feet would buckle beneath her as she managed to support her own weight.

''If you agree, I will never let you go. I will love you, be yours for the rest of our lives. Protect your life with my own.''

The physical response she had to his words was so violent, it took her by surprise. Tilting his head, he lowered his mouth to hers. The approach was slow and without force. She stumbled back, panting because she couldn't breathe because he was so close. He watched as she retreated, nearly beyond arms reach when he caught her back. His lips sealed over hers with a boldness that stole what was left of her air. She sagged into him, unable to comprehend the ardour with which he kissed her. His body was hard, tall and protective. Of her.

Where could she touch him? His hands at her nape following the length of her arms down to her wrist. He circled it, then lifted her hand to his chest. Between his coat and waistcoat, he urged her palm to splay over his heart. His skin burned through the layers of clothing between them. His heart beat with the same recklessness as hers. Her other hand clenched the hem of his coat as she whimpered, overwhelmed from the intensity.

The press of his lips softened and his grip slackened enough to allow her lungs to expand. Teasing rather than taking, he licked at the lower curve of her lip, goading him to taste her back. She did trembling, uncertain.

The clock on the mantel began to chime on the hour, but Rose was so lost to the time. To everything about her. Her hand moved across Jack's torso, feeling the muscles tense beneath her touch. A sound escaped her. He stopped his kiss, pulling away slowly.

''Rose,'' his voice was a hoarse whisper. ''I must go soon.''

He felt her nod.

''Tomorrow night, at the London ball, I will save the first waltz for you.''

Reaching for her hand, he lifted it and pressed a kiss to the back.

''Think over my confessions. I shall see you before then. I will send the word for when and what time. I will have someone accompany you.''


	10. Chapter 10

**Thank you all for those who review, PM and email me about this story. I am doing it slowly because I have written up to ch20 and then that's it...I struggle past there. But...I will complete it and keep posting until then :)**

 **I literally knocked out about 18 chapters in a month and then left the story for 9 months so I am trying to get back into that mind frame.**

Chapter ten,

''There are times when I impress myself with my own brilliance,'' Caledon crowed when entering Hugh Harrington's study with hat in hand.

One could always trust Harrington to eschew the services of a formal butler. He preferred lackeys over servants whose training in deportment exceeded his own. That was the primary reason of his attendance this side of London, otherwise, he wouldn't venture this far out.

Hugh dropped into one of the two chairs in front of the desk. ''You have outdone yourself, this time.''

''The moment I mentioned Dawson, I knew he had very little choice.'' Hockley said of Sedgewick.

Although he visited Hugh's home with regularity, he surveyed the room as if seeing it for the first time. His eyes lingered on the mahogany bookshelves lining the far wall and the sapphire hued velvet upholstery. Atop the desk sat parchments of all sorts, most lined with matters which wouldn't interest Hockley usually but today it did.

''Have you found a man?''

Hugh pressed his lips together, folding away his letters which were not of importance to him.

''Perhaps, I need a day or two longer, just to ensure the right man is selected.'' He replied, quietly.

''Quite right, Harrington.'' Caledon agreed. ''I feel I trust you thoroughly.''

''Well, with the amount of coin you thrust at me, how could I refuse?''

''So, our friendship was not a matter of yours then?''

Hugh dismissed the comment with a sharp shake of his head. ''Stuff, you know just how only you can benefit from this nonsense.'' There was nothing aside from money for him to see out of this entire charade.

Caledon raised his eyebrow, his steepled fingers steady. Rubies and diamond rings flashed under the glimmer of candlelight, showing the true wealth of the Hockley's. ''Indeed.''

Hugh hesitated. ''But there has been talk of another matter.''

Caledon sat forward, his shoulder straight, ensuring Hugh had his entire attention.

''Oh, do continue.''

''Lord Sedgewick was seen departing Lady DeWitt's manse early yesterday afternoon in quite a turmoiled manner.''

''Oh?'' He held in his surprise. He was not aware of his chatter. ''Please, tell me what you know?''

Hugh smirked. ''What is it worth?''

''Are you bribing me, dear friend?''

Hugh squared his shoulders as he turned over his bottom lip.

''Do not play the innocence, my lord.''

''I know just how much this information would be worth to you.''

''How much?''

''It depends how much you do wish to know.'' In control was not a position in which Hugh Harrington was used to been in very often, but at this precise moment, he found to enjoy it.

''I already paid you handsomely to find me a lackey to deal with this, scum. Now, you ask for more.''

''Yes, if you require a service, you pay for it, am I wrong?''

A deep sigh escaped his lips. His stance was high, with a raised chin, he eyed downward to Hugh, just as he did the servants of his own home.

''I don't believe for one moment you know just how fortunate you have been all of these years to have me as your friend. Your match with your dear fiancée, also stemmed from your association with me.''

Hugh's fist clenched atop his desk.

''You leave Millie out of any of this.''

Caledon smiled. ''Millie? A beautiful pet name for Amelia. Oh, one now has a tendre for the woman who he is to wed?'' Bitterness swam about in his stomach. He needed the information; he needed to cease rattling Harrington's cage knowing just how much dirt he had of the ways of Hockley's life; his wrongdoings and much more. He wasn't here to make an enemy although the fire of rage which burnt within him was hard to keep at bay. He would not lose this time. ''Forgive me,'' he nodded, ''I, too, am enamoured by Rose DeWitt. The thought of another having her is just the same as another taking Amelia from your clutches.'' He appealed to Hugh's weak spot. ''Can you imagine if a man as useless as Sedgewick took her from you? He kissed her pretty lips for the first time, removed your ring from her finger and put his own on her. If he claimed her-''

''For God's sake man, we both know it is not the same thing!'' Hugh exploded, sending the desk rattling. Paper fell onto the floor, his quill followed as the ink leaked from the pot into the thick, plush carpet staining into it. He found he didn't care. ''I care for my bride, I see the innocence in her eyes when she looks at me, also. I feel her lavish of affection in our kiss. You have nothing with Rose DeWitt! You are jealous, bitter-'' he breathed out, leaving a stunned silence. ''I will find you a man of affairs and that is all. When I wed I want a clear conscious and no part of your future endeavours. If you wish to know why Sedgewick was at the home then ask him yourself, you both have a plan of action; then follow it and leave me out of it.''

Raising his chin, Caledon raised an eyebrow. Hugh knew his friend well enough to know that inside his steely, cool exterior there was a fire of rage burning and that perhaps, someday, today would come back to haunt him but at this moment in time, he was putting his own needs forward first. He was a man to wed a fine woman, one he had grown to care for deeply, he would not put that in jeopardy no longer, even if it meant ending his twenty-year friendship with Caledon Hockley.

''Is that your final word?''

''Yes.'' Hugh nodded.

''Very well.''

With that, he was gone. Silently.

 _Four hours later, Earl Wellington's ballroom,_

From behind a winged mask, Rose could see just who was behind the lavish, all black suit even though his eyes were thoroughly covered by a simple black mask. The way his body moved amongst the peers was enough to ensure he stood out. He walked with such a grace, yet, it was not quite as straight backed as the other partygoers.

Her own mask was shocking purple and blue in colours; matching the hues of a peacock. It attracted attention to her. Flumes of feathers sat within her hair, matching the tones of her mask and the gorgeous turquoise of her silken dress. She was a vision; a treasure. Tonight, she had felt the need to dress for herself, to ensure that others knew that she was her own woman and that was all she would ever be.

Her Mother had chosen a more modest colour of mauve, but one that still ensured that all eyes were upon her as she attended the impromptu masked ball which the Earl and his wife had thrown to celebrate the turn of his political journey. The Earl was in his late 40s and at some point, during his earlier life, he had shown a great deal of interest in Lady DeWitt, even to this day, the odd glance to her could be stolen and Ruth noticed, with a flush of her cheeks. He was a decade older almost, but he was as handsome as they came. His wife she found, as always, was dreadfully dull. They remained childless for reasons which were their own but it was quietly suspected that the Countess was barren.

''Oh, what do we have here? What visions you are, my darling.'' Ruth turned to see Lord Hockley. With him, an escort hung from his arm. A tall, slender dark Spanish looking beauty.

''Thank you, my lord.'' Rose nodded, quietly. She eyed the woman with Caledon, not a feeling of jealousy stirring at any place within. If that was his point; to flaunt a beautiful girl right before her, then it would not work. She hid the smirk which threatened the corners of her mouth and instead breathed out steadily.

''May I introduce Maria Esworth?''

Rose smiled. ''Yes, a pleasure.''

Rose extended her black gloved hand to the women who refused to take her arm away from Caledon's. She was hooked to him like a child clinging from their parent.

''This here is Lady DeWitt and her daughter, Miss. Rose DeWitt.''

Rose retracted her hand, when it was clear the brunette would not speak or extend her hand to either of them. The awkwardness lingered for a second or two.

Ruth raised her chin, finding his flaunting of a new chit distasteful. ''How lovely to see you, Lord Hockley. We missed your calls this week.'' She stated, smiling through her gritted teeth.

''Has Rose not informed you, my lady? She refused several of my visits.''

Ruth turned to Rose; her eyes sharp through her feathered black mask. ''Oh.'' She stated, matter of factly. She took her daughters elbow, to steer her away from prying away. ''Do excuse us.''

''Of course, my lady.'' Caledon bowed, taking the arm of Maria and escorting her away from them both.

Once they had turned away from the centre of the ballroom, Rose felt her head throb. She had not informed her Mother yet of her intention to not court Lord Hockley or Lord Sedgewick. Jack had made his intentions perfectly clear to her the afternoon before and so, she had yet to think over his offer. The amount of proposals which she had received in a mere few days clouded her head over. But one had to think rationally and not be led right by her heard, but her head too.

''You utter fool!'' Ruth cried, low. ''You know the situation we are in.''

Rose placed her hand atop her mothers, her mouth curving into a small smile. One which she hoped would sooth her shrill voice.

''I know, mama. But I have another way.''

''Oh, you do? You innocent little-''

Her spine stiffened, sensing the presence of another nearby and she pulled out her fan as a long-legged gentleman stepped closer to them both, his face partially covered by a mask. She smiled, feigning genuine interest until he stopped right before them.

''Good evening, Lady DeWitt.'' He held out his hand to her, nodding his head in a light bow. His hand shake was perfect, light, as he bowed slowly. He smiled to reveal beautiful white teeth. His hair was not wigged, but neatly styled. For the life of her, she couldn't place just who the handsome man was.

''Good evening, I am sorry, I am at a loss of your identity.''

''Jack Dawson, my lady''

''Oh, yes.'' Ruth nodded, remembering the name someplace but not thinking of it too much. His interest in her daughter was quite obvious. Her woes were momentarily forgotten. ''A pleasure, Mr. Dawson.''

''May I take your daughter for a set? I have been dying to dance with her since this season started and I am afraid I am unable to cease waiting longer.''

Ruth stepped aside from her daughter, allowing Mr. Dawson to step closer.

''Of course, I am sure she would like that very much.''

Rose had remained silent as Jack Dawson had approached both her and Lady DeWitt. Her breathing had hitched the second she realised what his intentions was. A quick glance about told her that every women present was drinking in the sight of his broad form, his beautiful smile and the way he held himself. Maria hung from Caledon's arm beside a harp player in the far corner. As Jack came, his lips twitched into a smile, one that only she knew the reason for.

''I do hope you know the waltz.'' He whispered so only she could hear. Rose sheltered her racing heart with her hand, but he took it from her chest with a loving force and without an invite he led her to the centre of the dancefloor. The sharp tapping of their heels on marble was the only warning she had before her elbow was caught and she was spun about. His gaze sparkled with something which made her shiver.

''Yes,'' she managed.

He tugged her closer and the air sweltered between them. He took one hand in his, the other resting at her waist. He kept his frame tight but closer than most would dance. She took note, almost clinging to his arm as they began to move, beautifully and in time with the lovely notes of music. His body was so stiff and she felt as though right here was the safest which she had ever felt in her entire life.

''I do believe I am rendered speechless by your handsomeness this evening.'' She kept her voice low, aware that others could possibly here.

''I am speechless by you each time I lay eyes on you, Rose.''

His words sent chills across her entire body. She almost missed a step but he picked up, allowing them to move smoothly without need for error.

''Thank you,'' she blushed, ''I told you dance wasn't one of my loves.''

''I know, my love. Do you ever feel as though your feet move and yet, you are fully not aware of what they do?''

''Yes.'' She smiled, lowering her lashes. His gaze was intense. She was growing aware of the attention of the others which they had captured. The heavy silk of his attire gleamed beneath the candlelight, as did the ruby red of his cravat. Rose closed her eyes for just a moment, his grip on her tightened, sweeping her across the room. ''I feel as though I could soar.''

''You can, my love. I will show you that.''

Her eyes opened, her stomach fluttering from the way he swung her about. It was like no other dance she had ever experienced; not just in intimacy but the way he held her. The layers of clothing between them seemed to create a burn to remove them and be closer to him.

''You just have.''

''Then, let me do it every day for the rest of our lives.''

''How can that be true? We know so very little of each other. I cannot give you my heart until I do.''

''I offered you mine yesterday. I lay my past out to you. I can offer you everything except thorough blue blood. My Mother was not any particular importance to Society, yet my father was perhaps the most respected of his peers. What matter is that?''

Rose pressed her lips together. The reality of his words was so very sharp. He had offered her his heart. To other members of Society, his mother's identity would be the reason that she would be cast aside from this world. In her heart, she couldn't help but wonder what damage that would do. Her husband's duty would be to pay off the debts remaining left by her father, and yet she felt if she allowed Jack to do that, she would forever be in his debt. His money meant very little to him, yet to her Mother, it was everything. Happiness was measured by the amount of coin one had to their name.

''You overwhelm me.'' She finally responded.

''The intensity shall not diminish. I fear it would grow stronger.''

Rose slowed the pace of their dance. Her head was light and she was unsure whether it was due to the heat between them or because she had yet to consume a bite to eat. She looked out to the rear lawn. She could no longer see her mother. The Wellington's had a heterogenous garden featuring a hedgerow maze, a pagoda, various sized obelisks, a recreation of a Grecian temple ruin and a gazebo covered in climbing roses. It was an expansive outdoor space which could not be seen fully while standing in the ballroom.

''What is it?'' He noted her gaze.

''Escort me outside.''

With one brow arched in a silent show of curiosity, he offered his arm and led her to the garden. They reached the gravel lined path beyond the terrace and began to stroll. There were several groups of guests enjoying the many sights but the distance between parties was sufficient to keep the conversations private. Small nods of heads were enough to allow them to know just how polite they were.

'I felt light headed, my apologises.''

''No, don't be sorry, my love.''

His voice was soft and concerned. His affection name made her stomach flutter about with a million butterflies. Out in the cooler air, she felt much more able to breath. He took the fingers which held onto his arm and linked them with his own as she rested onto his arm. It was a loving gesture.

''Perhaps, you are the reason for my ailment.''

He laughed, softly. ''I don't doubt that. I gave you a lot to think of yesterday.''

''Yes.''

She glanced at him. He was so unabashed of his feelings for her, that was the reason which she didn't doubt them, not even slightly. His gaze fell onto her, also. She felt the intensity of it and looked away, out into the vast gardens, feeling the need to not be so consumed with those feelings at this precise moment.

''We are looking for a quiet corner.'' She told him, with a hushed voice. Her lashes lowered as she watched their feet move with the same timing, with him taking slower, shorter strides to match hers.

''Are you attempting to compromise me, Miss DeWitt?''

She shook her head, laughing. ''I confess while the notion is tempting. If you were of a mind to steal a few moments of my time from prying eyes and ears in this garden then where would you go?''

He raked in their surroundings with a considering glance. ''Not the maze, nor the gazebo. The temple may have promise.''

''And what would you do there?''

''Well, I would hold you, to me, right here.'' He tapped his chest. Her own chest strained beneath the heavy dress as she ached to be closer to him.

''Or perhaps, you could kiss me, as you did yesterday.'' Beneath long lashes, her eyes twinkled with a longing to feel him against her just as he did the day before, when he had stolen away her first kiss.

''I don't know if I could stop, my love.''

Her breath hitched at his endearment. It felt as though within his words, a promise was laced. Embarrassed by the depth of her reaction she looked away...and noted footprints, moving off the pathway onto the adjacent lawn. She tugged at Jack's arm and then pointed at the ground.

His lips pursed, contemplating. Only two prints were visible before the rest became hidden by low lying ferns. A large Italian alder spread its branches above them, providing a shadowy cover from the moonlight. She released him, looking around to ensure that no one was about. She followed the trail on nothing more than a hunch, one which caused her heart to pound. She knew that Jack was with her, even though she couldn't hear his footsteps behind. As she approached the tree, she picked out the sound of voices. One was feminine and pleading, the other masculine and biting. She strained, with an urge to hear them both clearly.

Jack caught her elbow and pulled her to the side, then urged her to crouch behind a boxwood shrub. She bunched up her skirts to keep the hem from becoming damp and dirty. They were on the far side of the tree from where they had left the path. She couldn't see the other couple but the sound was much improved.

''You cannot leave me in this state!'' The female cried.

''I ca do anything I desire. Have we not already determined that?''

The identity of the speakers was clear to Rose. She glanced with wide eyes at Jack.

''Hockley,'' he whispered, low and angry to Rose. She nodded once.

''With Samantha Rowland.''

He glanced up, noting that he had briefly met her at the polo match.

''You leave me no choice.'' Samantha said, with steel in her voice. ''I shall tell my parents what you did to me at the Hammond's house party. They will know I carry your child.''

''Is it mine?'' Hockley re-joined smoothly. ''I think not. You are a promiscuous piece of baggage. I'm certain I can locate others who would attest to sampling your charms.''

Jack jolted out physically, eliciting Rose's concern. Reaching out, she set her hand atop his forearm and found it to be hard as marble. He looked stone faced, furious. His jaw clenched so tight that that the tautness of the muscles was visible. He did not, though, look surprised. She buried her face into his neck, smelling the scent of him entirely. Aside from their kiss, it was the closest to him she had become but it was at such an unsettling time that she could not concentrate fully on his embrace.

''I was untouched,'' Samantha said with more dignity than Rose knew she would have under those circumstances. ''You forced this child on me. You must make this right. Your misdeed can no longer remain hidden.''

''What you accuse me of, Miss. Rowland is a very serious allegation. I could draw up legal action against you. You would go to prison, Samantha, for libel against a peer of the realm. Not the most hospitable accommodation for a woman in your condition.''

Jack drew Rose closer to him, knowing that her innocent ears should not be subjected to such a conversation but both knew just how vital this information would be to witness.

''You're a monster. Filled with the devil's own taste for depravity and lust.''

''And you want to wed me? What does that make you?''

''Desperate.'' Samantha hissed.

Rose swayed with a rush of nausea. She had known Samantha Rowland almost her entire life, and now, to be a witness to such revelations caused her to feel ill. Jack grabbed her elbow and stood, dragging her up with him. He propelled her away from their hiding spot and back out to the pathway. She clung to his arm, stiff and with an urge to sob.

As they went back to the main pathway, he quickly dodged behind a large tree trunk, away from the prying eye. Before she knew it, she was up against a sturdy vessel. His hands came at her, untying her mask carefully and slowly before removing it from her eyes. As he revealed her full face, his hands came to her cheeks, caressing at it. He saw the surprise of the evening wore upon her face. She shakily reached a gloved hand up to his face and pulled the mask away from his eyes. Her breathing stopped, as his eyes sparkled with such a beauty, she felt the warmth spread across her entire being. His watch of her was so magical it made her toes want to curl.

''You shouldn't have heard that, my love, but do you see just how dangerous he is for you?''

She could only nod, not wanting to think of Lord Hockley and his vile ways. Samantha Rowland was increasing out of wedlock, God knows how her parents would react unless this was put right. It had to be put right. There had to be something which could be done...

''You told me that you were worse.''

He bowed his head, remembering those vital words he had spoken in a warning for her to rid herself of him when he was too weak to stay away from her. Now, he was in love with her.

''Tell me.'' She urged. ''I must know.''

''My father died because of me.'' He told her whilst his gaze pierced hers so sharply. ''When his wife found of my existence, she hired a man to kill me. To make my existence no longer a problem. When my father found out, he was furious. My brother was never my friend, but he protected my life with his own, taking a wound to the shoulder when the killer came for me. The word shook the town. He came back days later, for me once more, this time my father stood in the way and the sword pierced his heart.'' Jack swallowed back the grief which he had kept inside for so long. ''Caledon Hockley killed my father. He and Sedgewick's mother plotted it between them. The latter of this, even Will doesn't know.''


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter eleven,

As the clock above the mantle chimed midday, Rose raised her chin, gaining eye contact with her abigail she nodded just once to signal. Trudy nodded in a swift response and she disappeared into the hallway. Dressed in a lilac muslin dress with golden beading and thread, Rose stood quietly from her place at the lunch table.

''Would you excuse me, mother, I have a carriage waiting.'' As her eyes met her mother's querying face, she replied to an unanswered question. ''I did say that I would take a trip into town with Miss. Rowland, we intend to set our eyes upon this season's new styles.''

Her mother's face settled. ''Wonderful! Do select several hats, too. The coming season will call for them.''

''Yes, mama.''

''Good afternoon, Rose.''

Lady DeWitt rarely allowed her daughter to leave the table when lunch was not yet cleared away but there was something about her mood these days past which seemed to have improved greatly. In fact, Rose was sure she had heard her mother singing that morning on her way to breakfast, but she had dismissed it, perhaps one of the maids had hummed a tune as they cleaned the manse.

Rose met Trudy at the front doorway, where she was given her white reticule, gloves and a floral white hat.

''Your carriage is ready, Miss.''

''Thank you, Trudy.''

In short order she was on her way to the Rowland's residence, comfortably seated in her mother's barouche. The day was overcast, but warm. As they moved through the streets of London, Rose allowed her mind to wander. From the shade of her wide brimmed hat, she attempted to resolve her own mind. It fell first to Jack, as it always did. She never imagined that she would be the sort of female who incited raging passions in men. The depressive state which she had fallen into the first weeks of her season were maudlin, now here she was, considering a betrothal to a man who couldn't offer her as much as any other man in Society, yet he had given her everything which she could never need. A minor thing such as parentage; his mother, was the reason why she would be cast aside. Although, she noted that Jack was allowed, mostly, to walk amongst peers. Men refused to speak with him, but their wives eyed his physical form as he walked gracefully past. There was something magnificent about his effect on women, but his eye had only ever fallen upon her. Occasionally, her mind wondered to his bed, of how many women he had discreetly taken and if their cries of passion were heard by others, just as notes of gossip floated amongst their peers of the women who other gentleman took to their bed; wed or not. Perhaps, he was a virgin, as she was. The thought caused her cheeks to redden and she dismissed it immediately.

There was Lord Sedgewick, his half-brother; another who she had seriously considered a courtship with, that was until she had learnt the truth of his life, his feud with Lord Hockley and the Dawson family. As much as Jack had promised he would protect her from it, she couldn't help but feel that she was drawn into it much more than they were aware of. Upon closer inspection of their faces, one could perhaps see the shared genetics, despite the different surnames.

Lord Hockley; well he must be the Devil himself. Her narrow escape from his clutches was terrifying. He was a scheming man, one whose reputation she was surprised to still be in tact after what happened years before. He was a killer. That was the entire reason Jack had wanted to protect her from him. Now, she felt it was her own duty to protect her friend from him too.

The barouche slowed to a stop.

''Here we are,'' the driver called with a customary cheerfulness. ''Rowland manse, Somerset house.''

Rose turned her head toward Somerset House. She had vaguely remembered the trellis of flowers from her last visit some months before.

How she made the journey from the carriage to the interior of the edifice was a mystery to her. By the time she recovered the full use of her mental and physical facilities, she was ushered into the sitting room and a tray of tea was placed before her. Rose didn't move to touch it, instead awaiting Samantha's arrival. She didn't know how the conversation would be received, or how it would end. Silent, deep breaths kept her calm. Not even Jack knew that she would plan to come here today to speak with her friend. She tried to concentrate on the wooden furniture, the pretty brass work and beautiful sparkle of the chandeliers set off by the golden hues of the room.

The door opened, creaking as it went. Rose turned her attention to the room, standing as Samantha entered. She was paler than Rose had seen at the polo match, her eyes tried to revert from her stomach, but no light rounded bump was visible. Her dress was simple, yet elegant and her fair hair twisted in a French style braid before bunching atop her head.

''Good afternoon, Rose. What a pleasure.''

Rose came to her, kissing each cheek lightly. ''Hello, Sam, it certainly is.''

''I do wish I would have known your intentions to call. I was not attired for visitors.''

''Oh, do stop. You are lovely.'' Rose settled back in the wingback chair. Samantha signalled for the servant to make the tea. A small white capped maid scurried from the doorway, proceeding to make the tea.

''I do apologise for my lack of notice.'' Rose started, slowly, waiting for the maid to finish the tea before she progressed any further with the conversation. The maid's hands shook, as though she felt the pressure to finish. Rose placed an un-gloved hand upon her hand ceasing her trembling finger and smiling, gratefully. ''It is quite all right, thank you. You may go, I can make the tea for us.''

The maid stepped back, a little stunned. She curtsied lightly. ''Yes, ma'am.''

Rose watched as she went, clicking the door closed behind her. She turned her attention back to the strainer.

''I apologise, she is very new. She started work just Monday.''

''No need. How many sugars?''

''Oh, none for me. I don't quite feel myself. Please, take tea. Don't mind me.''

Rose's hands fell into her lap as she sat upright, leaving the tea service for a moment. She had only begun the preparation as meetings such as this deemed it socially a responsibility to offer refreshment. Rose could think of stronger refreshment she would care to consume at this moment.

''How long have we been acquainted?''

''Oh, fifteen years or so, perhaps.'' Samantha strained to remember.

Rose smiled. ''We may not be as close as we once were as children, but I fear there has been a gap in previous years.''

Samantha shifted within her seat. She narrowed her eyes. ''Rose, whatever is the matter to cause such a concern for that?''

If Rose hadn't heard the conversation between Samantha and Lord Hockley, then she would indeed have thought herself touched to ever speak with Samantha Rowland of such matters, but as she heard the waver of her voice, memories of the overheard statements the days previous rang out in her ears.

''You asked me at the polo match of whether Lord Hockley had proposed marriage to me.''

''Yes,'' she urged.

''I told you he had not.''

''Yes.''

Rose blinked several times. She was not one for approaching matters so head on and so wished that Jack could have been here, even though it was wildly appropriate. He would navigate her through such a struggle. He spoke directly, from his heart. She stumbled for a moment. Samantha noted her discomfort as she sat forward, she reached across to touch Rose's cold hand.

''My goodness, are you, all right?''

''Yes.'' She breathed deeply. ''My concern actually lies with you.''

Samantha stiffened. ''Oh?''

''I know of your-'' she lowered her voice, to a whisper, ''condition.''

Samantha pulled her hand back immediately, as though she had been scolded by boiling water. ''I beg your pardon?''

''I overheard you and Lord Hockley at the London ball.'' Rose averted her gaze, not wishing to see Samantha's reaction. She concentrated on the beading of her dress as she felt her stomach turn from remembrance.

''I see.''

Rose's mouth parted. She had expected a denial.

''Just how much?''

''All of it.''

Samantha raised her chin, as though she needed to find dignity from within. Her hands clasped atop her flat stomach. Her gaze avoided Rose's.

''I trust you have come to scold me for dallying with a man you are to become betrothed to?''

''No! Absolutely not.'' Rose reached across the table for Samantha's hand. She found it trembled. ''He is a disgusting, vile cretin who needs to be punished for all of his sins.''

Tears lined Samantha's eyes. Rose knew that her friend had expected her appearance here today to be that of a warning, a scolding perhaps. That broke her heart.

''Oh-''

''I must warn you of something else, an exchange of discretion if you will.''

''Yes?''

''I was with Jack Dawson when we overheard. He is much aware of this as I.''

Samantha's right hand flew to her chest. ''Jack Dawson but-''

''He isn't the man you think, Sam. Or what anyone thinks. His past is shaded, one I wish I could share with you, but I beg of your mind to relinquish whatever gossip you have been told and think of him as a person who could perhaps help you.''

Samantha pressed her lips together. ''He killed his father.''

Rose exhaled slowly. ''No, Lord Hockley killed Lord Jon Sedgewick, Jack's father.''

Samantha furrowed her brow. ''For certain?'' That would make him Lord William Sedgewick's brother. An oddity.

''Yes. I believe him more than anything.''

''Are you two betrotheds?'' She swallowed, slowly.

''Not yet, although I may allow him to have my heart.''

''You love him?'' Samantha observed.

''One doesn't know what love is aside from the romantic novels. What I feel for him is very close to that.''

Samantha pressed her hands to her stomach. ''You do, then. You must.''

Rose smiled, weakly. The notion was possible, but one that she mustn't think of at this moment in time.

''My Mother knows nothing of his past. Nothing of Lord Hockley or my involvement with the mess of which he caused. The lives he stole.''

''You must inform her immediately.''

''I intend to. Jack would like to be present when his tale is told, to ensure that she will thoroughly understand, then he intends to pay his addresses.''

''What if your mother doesn't accept?''

Rose sagged her shoulders back. ''I suspect I should defy her and shun Society to be with him.''

Samantha's hands came to her face as a single tear escaped. ''Oh, Rose.''

In a way which her sister, Edwina, never had, Rose came to her knees in front of Sam, not caring of the crease of her dress or even if she tore it with her heel as she went. The urge to comfort was there within her.

''Do not cry, not over this.''

''They're happy tears. As one sheds as a wedding.''

Rose tenderly placed her hands atop Samantha's. ''What of you and this child?''

''Oh, do not worry. I will be all right.''

''But people will know soon. How far do you expect to be?''

Samantha shook her head. ''Perhaps three or so months. There is no protrusion yet. Not even beneath the corset.''

''But there will be soon.''

''I feel it though. I am sure of it. The feather like touch inside as though a butterfly delicately taps its wings across my stomach.''

''How wonderful.'' Rose admired Samantha's strength. ''Are you not afraid?''

Samantha shook her head. ''Not of my child. I do not fear motherhood. I am already a mother, awaiting my child to make its entrance into this world.''

''You are a wonderful mother.''

''My only fear is of Hockley. My child is innocent and despite its parentage, it will be mine alone. He will never come near me, or my child again.''

''Will you speak of its pater?''

Samantha firmly shook her head. ''Never.''

Rose carefully stood, raising her skirts as she did to avoid catching her heels within the beading.

''Do not fear Lord Hockley, I feel if you don't seek him out then he will stay away from you also. He has other matters he currently has to attend.''

''Very well.'' Samantha nodded. ''I asked of his hand to ensure thorough security for both of us. Now, I know just how foolish I was to think it.''

''You will marry, Samantha. One day a man will cherish you.''

''But a child is a burden, is it not?''

''A child is a gift. Lord Hockley will pay for his sins, someday soon.''

Once Rose had left the Rowland residence, she found herself settled inside the barouche once more. It was just two p.m, the streets of London were filled with local hustle and bustle. She found herself admiring just how the commoners worked. The smiles upon their faces were genuine, their children stood alongside them; skipping, dancing and running as though cares were scarce. Perhaps, a life amongst them would be preferable to the one which she led.

As she reached home, her gloves and hat were taken right away by Ben.

''Your mother is in the parlour, Miss. Rose. She craves a word.'' He informed her low. She thanked him, with a tender smile.

She made her way to the parlour, her skirts swishing across the wooden floors. A moment to herself would have been preferable but, she wouldn't refuse her mother's word, knowing just how much the course of their lives would alter and sometime soon.

She pushed open the door.

''Good afternoon, mama.''

Ruth nodded in a smile. ''Yes, it is.''

Rose closed the door swiftly as she made her way to the table which her mother made no effort to sit at, ignoring all social graces. Rose stayed upon her feet.

''What is it?''

Ruth rounded the small table. ''I have received word from several creditors today,'' she began, ''the debts which your father foolishly mounted has been paid off in full.''

Rose's lips parted in a stunned silence. ''By whom?''

''Lord Hockley, of course.'' Ruth smiled, knowingly. ''I should have known just how much affection he held for you.''

''Yes.'' Rose whispered simply, feeling the afternoon steer in an alternate direction.

''He called this afternoon not long after you left. He has paid his addresses to wed and I have accepted them.''

Rose felt her breathing shallow and then stop. The world seemed to stopped turning for just a second as though a death had been announced. ''No, mama.'' Her hand came to her chest. ''How could you?''

''Yes, Rose. You will accept his proposal when he asks. No excuses, nor will there be any delays. He has insisted on wedding you before the month is out.''

It was suddenly painful to breath. She clutched the broken rib which had yet to heal. She fell back and luckily; a wingback caught her legs and she fell into it with a cry.

''Oh, mama, you have no idea just what you have done.''

Ruth was embarrassed beyond belief as her eyes fell onto the figure behind Rose.

''Do not cry, my precious Rose.'' Lord Hockley's voice came from behind her. Rose stiffened, as though she had taken a shot to the heart. A blow to the head. Her neck craned to see Caledon before her, his heels clacking against the wooden floor and silencing as he stepped onto the rug. He was handsome, tall and powerful. Everything which she despised, knowing just what he had done. What he was capable of.

She found the strength to stand. Her eyes dried immediately as from within she was sudden raging with a fire she had never felt in her life.

''Mother, please may I speak with my _fiancé_ **alone**.''

Her widened eyes didn't leave Caledon's as she rooted to the spot. She was aware of her mother's speaking before she left the parlour, a click of the door indicated that she had left.

''So, I assume that you are happy to be mine. If I am referred to as your fiancé?'' He smiled, backing away from her, taking a wide gapped stance so that his powerful body seemed to be a reminder of how little she really was.

''No, my lord. I can assure you, I will never be wed to you.'' Her voice was steeled.

''Well, I have paid off your debts in full. You are now in my debt, my lady.''

''If you paid anything, that was of your own accord, nor did I ever ask for it.''

''No, but your family's reputation depended on it.''

Rose laughed, placing her hands on her hips. Her corset felt tight around her entire torso.

''And what of your reputation, my lord?''

He raised his eyebrow at her, with narrow darkened eyes. ''What of it, my sweet?''

''Well, congratulations are in order, first.'' Rose smirked, knowingly. ''I have overheard that you are to be a father.'' She tutted, loudly. ''Although, out of wedlock, that may cause some problems amongst your peers. Poor, Samantha, too. Although, she is well and happy to take care of the child alone and luckily, has people on hand to watch over her to ensure just how well the child thrives without such a creation as you in its life.''

Caledon's jaw tightened. He came closer to her, but she didn't back away. His intent on frightening her with his swift move hadn't worked. He knew then, to keep his temper in check. ''The girl is a charmed seducer of many a man but me.''

''You seem to forget that I heard you admit to such matters. I was not alone, my companion also had an ear that night.''

His nostrils flared. He glanced about the room for a relief cabinet but there was none. Of course, there wasn't. He slammed his hand onto the table, causing the tea service to rattle as the strain of the table threatened.

''Damnation! It was lies!'' He knew keeping his voice muted was a better option but he couldn't as his anger rose from below, deep in his stomach.

''You are nothing but a vile, arrogant and selfish man. One who will never own me in any way.''

He swiped a hand through his black hair, in a swift turn her was beside her. He thrust his hands upon her arms, squeezing them until it burnt. ''You already do belong to me.''

She struggled within his grip. It felt as though acid was awash over her bare skin and as though she could scream but she would not give him the satisfaction.

''No, my lord. I belong to Jack Dawson. The son of the man you killed. Remember that?'' Caledon tightened his grip on her before she felt his breathing stall.

''You speak of more lies.''

''No, that much I do know, my lord. You are a murderer and soon your reputation will be ruined. I will ensure that much.''

''Jack Dawson is nothing but a gutter rat. His mother was a whore. If you go to him then you will become his whore as well.''

''I would rather be his whore than your wife.''

As quick as a cat, his palm came up, flying across her cheek in one swift move. It stung, causing tears to spring to her eyes. The parlour door flew open at that moment, Trudy came inside, her eyes wide with stunned fear as she saw how Caledon gripped Rose's arms, she was almost hoisted into the air.

''Unhand her, my lord.''

''This is not your concern.''

Rose felt her bottom lip begin to chatter as adrenaline overcame her body. She had never had a hand raised to her and nothing had prepared her for the blow. Her right knee swiftly came in, quick and hard into his groin, causing his grip to release and for him to stumble back into the table which held the tea service. It crashed to the ground in a clatter; China shattered, hot water seeped into the expensive carpet. Ben came to the door, followed by another member of staff.

''Cease him.'' Trudy ordered as Ben held onto Hockley's elbow, steadying him as the pain of his groin flared.

Rose picked up her skirts, stumbling passed them and down the hall.

 _Dawson's manse, later that evening._

Jack leaned back in his chair and drummed his fingertips upon the desk. ''How long was he there?''

''About an hour,'' Aaron said, holding his hat to his chest with both hands. He stood just inside the doorway of Dawson's study, rocking back on the heel of his boots. ''Perhaps a little longer.''

''You know why Hockley made that call,'' Sedgewick prompted from his spot on the settee. He had arrived a moment before, having not yet discussed matters or truly been alone with his brother for the first time in four years.

''No, she refused him. I paid the creditors just this morning so there was no further need for him to associate with her.'' Jack bit out.

''Don't be obtuse, Dawson. Women bow to familial pressure to marry men they don't want. it happens all of the time.''

Jack's hands curled into his palm.

''Do you truly believe that her heart lies with you?''

Straightening, he uncovered his inkwell and stabbed a quill into it. He was tormented. This incessant need Hockley had for Rose was invalid. Jack needed to keep her safe. He dashed off a quick note, his hands moving and writing as he never had before. He powered the ink with fine-grained sand before folding. He sealed the whole and waved it at Aaron, his errand boy. The ''boy'' was a man; over six feet tall, with an appetite for outdoor sports and a hunger for the cash which Jack paid him handsomely to discreetly cover the duties needed.

''Take this to the DeWitt residence.''

Aaron approached and collected the missive.

''Miss. DeWitt may need you after she reads it. Linger to be sure and if so, then assist her.'' Jack went on, ''after that, keep a watch over Hockley, I want to know what his next steps will be. Also, get a watcher over the Rowland household over on Strand. I need to ensure thorough safety at all times.''

''Will do, Dawson.''

After Aaron left, Sedgewick stood and walked to the console to avail himself of Jack's brandy.

''To see you as a powerful man is quite unsettling. One should have known just how much more carved for the Lord title you should have been than I.''

Jack swiftly moved his hair from his eyes. His stare to Will told him to let it drop immediately, so he did.

''The lady is full of proposals this week.'' He picked a change of topic.

''Yes.'' The thought didn't improve Jack's mood. It worsened it. He wanted to be with her at all times and he had yet to discuss further matters with her.

''Do you know what the man has up his sleeve?''

Jack removed the brandy from William's hand, knowing just what a mess he became once he consumed. ''No, but I know that you do, so do spill.''

William laughed. ''Oh, dear brother, what do you feel I could know of the man?''

Jack exhaled, consuming the brandy himself. ''Because, we share the same father. Once a long time ago you protected by life with your own. I am willing to do the same for you, in any circumstance. Should Hockley come at you, I shall lay down my life as you did for me. If he offered you so much as the same deal, then go to him and remove yourself from my home at once.''

William stiffened. The face of his brother uncannily like their fathers. He had been a boy at just sixteen when they had met last, his body puny and voice crying out as their father died in their arms, but now, Jack Dawson was a man of immense power, more than William initially thought. Their bond was unasked for, but nevertheless it was there. They were brothers by blood whether it was liked or not.

''Very well. I am in.''


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter twelve,

''Like his father, he is arrogant to the point of idiocy.'' William snorted, falling back onto the settee. Jack crossed his arms across his chest as he leant against his desk. He couldn't sit. He refused to.

''What did you expect to accomplish by talking to him?'' Jack narrowed his eyes at his brother. ''Was it all about revenge on me?''

William shrugged. ''Partly, yes.'' He avoided Jack's gaze. ''I was weakened by the anger inside of me. I grieve for our father, far more than I let on to anyone. Over the years, I did blame you. He would still be here if it wasn't for your existence.''

''Yet, if Hockley hadn't put a dagger through his heart, he would still be here.'' Jack shouted; his voice tormented. William winced beneath the echoes of the room.

''Yes, I know.''

Jack ran his fingers through his hair roughly. ''So, he plans to steal Rose away and then kill me?''

''Yes.''

''And what was your part in this?''

William hesitated, pulling at his cravat. His discomfort answered the query.

''Oh, so you would be the one to draw a dagger on me? To be the one to do Hockley's dirty little work?''

''Yes.''

Jack was uncomfortable. He was torn between two completely opposing states and both he was unknown to. He was never one to resort to violence but at that moment, he could have slammed his fist into something hard just to relieve some of the anger.

''I know this is hard to believe, Dawson, but sometimes there are sound reasons for doing something. Not everything in this world is motivated by some evil plan.''

''It is with Hockley.''

''Yes, I see that now. So, why are you not doing something about it? We are standing about here dallying when we have a killer to catch.''

Jack glanced incredulously at his brother. ''You are not of sound mind. You think you and I shall go to his house armed and take his life so easily?''

''Why the stall?''

''Why the haste?'' He bit back, his lips tight.

''Because, you seem to forget just what he is capable of.''

''Yes, which is why I need to ensure the safety of Rose, her mother and Samantha Rowland.''

''Why Samantha Rowland? What does she have to do with this?''

Jack dismissed the comment with a swish of his hand. ''Never mind that.''

Sedgewick shook his head. ''You are so touchy,'' he smirked, ''perhaps you should take yourself to the gentleman's club to indulge.''

Jack ignored the comment. ''Hockley could have any heiress he wants. I need to know why he is so determined to have Rose. Someone clearly on the shelf and possessed of a rare temperament. Someone who's told him she does not want him.''

''Perhaps that is the lure.''

''Perhaps. Before I was in the picture, he set himself at her, then. Now, he is hell bent.''

Jack sipped his liberation and William watched him carefully. The mannerisms of his brother were like that of a caged animal. There was an air of disquiet, yet he had the promise to take down Caledon Hockley with one swoop. He didn't waver in his trust. He rose to his feet. A steady hand held out to his brother. Jack eyed him with a raised brow.

''I have only ever wanted revenge on our father's murderer. We are not full brothers, my mother never accepted you and I know your own mother wasn't too keen on me, either. But somehow, we are both here and in need of the same thing.'' William nodded. ''I care for Rose. I would marry her tomorrow if she could want me, but I know your heart lies with her and mine does not. I must take a wife to continue my duty as a Lord and provide children to carry on the line. You have been excused from that purely due to your mother's identity. My life isn't so easy either.'' He exhaled deeply, noting the deep frown upon Jack's face and how he seemed to resemble their father much more than he ever had. ''I offer you my services, free of charge.''

''You laid out your life for me once before. Perhaps I am in debt to you.''

William shook his head. ''Never.''

''I will ensure that your debts are wiped if you promise to never gamble another penny for as long as you live.''

''Not needed.''

''Well, my lord, I completed the deed this morning. Now, you have to make the promise to me that you will never set foot in a gamble house again.''

Williams lips parted in utter shock. ''Fifty thousand? How?''

Jack shook his head. ''Money is a vulgar topic, brother, so pick another or make me a promise.''

''I promise.''

Jack's hand shook William's as the brothers firmly stood together for the second time in their life without knowing what the outcome would be. They may have lost their father but their future endeavour would ensure revenge for his pointless death.

''You have worked tirelessly for years to earn enough of a fortune to ruin the likes of Hockley?''

Jack nodded.

''Remember me to never anger you.''

Jack glanced at the clock.

''Should I return tomorrow?''

''Yes, make it ten sharps.'' Jack studied the time now. It was almost midnight. ''Make it after eleven.''

''You will hear no complaints from me,'' William laughed as he made his egress. ''I have spent more time with you today than I have in the last few days with a woman. No offence, your charms are not appealing to me.''

''I should hope not,'' Jack muttered, following his brother out to the hall en route to his rooms upstairs.

''I beg you to follow my lead and consider indulging in some female companionship yourself.''

Jack paused with his foot at the bottom step, absorbing the now familiar thrum of anticipation he felt whenever Rose approached.

''Do not feel the need to be excessively timely tomorrow morn,'' he said over his shoulder, before ascending the staircase two steps at a time.

Rose wondered what Dawson's house looked like from the inside. Alighting from the carriage in the mews afforded her only a backside glimpse of Jack's home. The young man who couriered Jack's note to her urged her expeditiously through the iron gate and along a cobblestone pathway bisecting a garden that was immaculate, if not uninspired. She was absorbing the severity of the lawn when Jack appeared. A shiver of delight moved through her.

He filled the doorway leading in the house, his broad shoulders and tall frame backlit by the interior candlelight. His stance was wide, allowing light to shine between his legs, detailing the length and power of his thighs. He was fully dressed and for the first time in her life, she found the sights of a man's body inflaming. From the moment which she had laid eyes on him, she'd felt a disturbing and significant physical response to his proximity. It had intensified daily.

''Rose.''

There was something intimate about the way he said her name.

She gained the first stair leading up from the garden and he held his hand out to her. It was gloveless, so strong and capable. She tugged off her own glove before she accepted his assistance, wanting to feel the warmth of his skin. A frisson of heated awareness moved up her arms. Looking up at him beneath the hood of her cloak, she noted the stark austerity of his handsome features. He seemed so somber. So grave.

''Is something wrong?''

''Come inside.''

Glancing behind her she saw the young man who had accompanied her had departed. Jack's note had advised her to ask his man to accompany her back, if she chose to visit him as he requested. Once she relayed her acquiescence, everything was arranged with an amazing swiftness. She'd been squired from her house through the delivery alley and seen into a hired hackney. The winding and repetitive route they'd taken ensured she wasn't followed. Jack led her inside and took her to a study. Her senses were engaged by the feel of the room the moment she entered it. The mixture of blue hues and mahogany wood was surprising; although she couldn't say what else she might have chosen for him. Large wingback chairs and overly stuffed settees spoke of comfort as well as functionality. She knew instantly that he spent a great deal of time in this room, which made her want to explore every corner of it. He came up behind her and set his hands on her shoulders. She stiffened, not with fear or apprehension, but expectantly. She heard him inhale slowly and deeply, as if savouring her scent. The action suited him. He was a man firmly attuned to his baser nature, reliant on his senses and instincts as all predatory and dominant creatures were. She was attracted to that side of him, deriving a potent thrill from being capable of stirring it.

"May I?" he asked, referring to her cloak. Rose nodded. Her hood was lifted and pulled back, exposing her face to light from all around. He paused, his frame emanating an unmistakable tension. The act of removing her cloak suddenly became far more revealing. She understood then that he hadn't summoned her to discuss urgent business or anything else. He wanted to see her. Her breath caught audibly and a fine tremor rippled through her. Jack's chin came to rest atop the crown of her head. His hands gripped her upper arms in a gentle yet unshakeable hold.

"Will you stay?" he asked gruffly. She hesitated only a moment.

''Yes.''

Rose felt Jack relax. She did not. How could she, having just agreed to give herself to a man she barely knew? For the first time in her life, she had ignored all reason and acted purely on feeling.

"What would you have done if I said no?"

"Changed your mind." His fingers deftly released the frog at her throat. Her cloak began to slip and he caught it with a flourish. Turning to face him, she watched as he draped the black velvet garment over the back of one of the pale blue settees. ''I need to protect you, to be with you.''

"I'm agreeing to something I have no knowledge of," she pointed out. "Perhaps I will change my own mind."

Jack stepped closer and cupped her face in his hands. "I haven't asked you here to strip away your clothing. I have asked you here to be with me, under my protection. That and, I can't keep away from you.''

The physical response she had to his words was so violent it took her by surprise. He took advantage, his mouth sealing over hers and taking it, his tongue thrusting fast and deep. Rose caught his wrists to keep her balance, her body otherwise frozen by the onslaught. A whimper escaped her and was swallowed by his answering.

His chest lifted and fell rapidly. His gaze was heavy-lidded and hot. He pulled away from her, needing some distance just for a moment before he lost himself in her.

"This is my study," he said in a hoarse voice. "When I'm home, this is the most likely place to find me."

Stunned by the sudden change in conversation and the distance between them, Rose took a moment to register what he'd said.

"It suits you," she managed. 'I did wonder where and what your home would look like.''

"Come along." Jack held his hand out to her. He pulled her gently from the room and back out to the visitor's foyer. There was a longcase clock against the wall, a large console with a lone silver salver atop it, and a rack for Jack's cane. It was a purely functional space, lacking any adornments.

"The parlour is here," he said, steering her across a round Aubusson rug covering the marble floor.

From the threshold, she saw a fire in the grate and playing cards scattered across two separate tables. It looked as if a gathering had recently been there and would be returning shortly. The room was decorated in shades of yellow and cream. There was a large quantity of furniture, all of which was oversized and sturdily built. Still, the space felt sterile and uncluttered.

"At any given hour," he said, "many of my employees can be found in here. The downstairs is often noisy, filled with bawdy conversations and raucous laughter. This is the first time this room has been empty in many years."

"Oh . . ." Rose understood that he'd sent the men away because of her. She had no knowledge of Jack even employing a single sole, but that wasn't a question to ask at this moment. He was revealing himself little by little. At his own pace. "When will they be back?"

"Not for many hours." Her palms grew damp, a reaction he couldn't fail to note with her hand in his.

"Were you so certain of my capitulation?"

"Far from it, but I couldn't proceed as if failure was inevitable." He tugged her from the room. "There is also a dining room and ballroom on this floor, but I use neither, so they're unfurnished."

They moved toward the staircase and started to climb. With every step they took, her excitement mounted. Her breathing quickened and her face felt hot. There was an unmistakable finality to their upward progression, as if her fate had been set and she couldn't turn back now. Far from feeling trapped, she felt liberated. All afternoon, she had kept to Social graces and heirs. Hockley had tried to claim her as his and she had swiftly kicked him back. No longer would he stake his claim on her.

"The third floor," he said, "has three bedrooms and a nursery, which has been converted into a room for guests. Sometimes my men stay here, for various reasons. No one is here now. If you would like to see the rooms, I'll show them to you." If he was trying to give her time to change her mind, it wasn't working. She was growing more agitated by the moment. Impatient. Restless.

"Why?"

Jack glanced at her. "Does anything about my home strike you in an unusual way?"

"It's lovely," she said. "Beautifully furnished. However, it is also oddly barren. Nothing adorns the walls or table surfaces. You've hung no portraits of loved ones or pleasing landscapes. I had hoped to learn more about you by visiting, but I've seen very little that tells a story. You don't appear to hang your own art."

"No. One has to want things in order to purchase them. There's nothing I want. There has been nothing I've seen in a shop window or in someone else's home that I have coveted." He paused with one foot on the next step. "I think you might understand that lack of wanting.''

"Many people find that art and sentimental objects provide comfort and enjoyment. I, too, own a few items that are impractical but give me pleasure.''

"Am I such to you?" he asked, his blue eyes shadowed with some emotion she couldn't name.

"An impractical pleasure?"

"Yes. I knew that I should have stayed away and yet you called to me so deeply, that I know why you couldn't stay away from me, too."

He started forward again. They reached the second-floor landing and Rose looked down the lone hallway, searching for and finding a lack of wall adornment. Aside from sconces to light the way, there was nothing to relieve the long expanse of soft green damask covering the walls. His pace slowed from brisk to a near stroll.

"I have only ever wanted intangible things—health and happiness for my mother, justice for wrongdoings, satisfaction in a job well done—things of that nature. I have never understood why others become focused on particular objects. I've never comprehended obsession or overwhelming need." He spoke without inflection. There was nothing in what he said that betrayed any emotion, yet she felt a deeper undercurrent to his words.

"Why are you telling me this?" she asked softly, clutching his hand with both of her own.

"I'm the only one who uses this floor." He started forward. "Aside from my own rooms, the rest are vacant." His repeated evasion of her questions was growing tiresome. She could not understand his mood. With her own emotions a confusing jumble, she didn't have the wherewithal to translate his feelings, too. They reached a set of open double doors. Jack gestured her in ahead of him. Taking a deep breath, Rose crossed the threshold. Like her room, Jack's sitting room was predominantly burgundy in tone with occasional splashes of cream to alleviate the dark hue. But unlike her space, his was thoroughly masculine. There were no tassels or patterns to any of the materials, and no carvings in the wooden arms and legs of the chairs and tables. The air smelled of him. She breathed the scent into her nostrils, finding it calming to her jangled nerves. Then, she looked at the open doorway to her left, the portal to Jack's bedchamber, and her stomach knotted all over again.

''I know that Hockley came to you today,'' he murmured.

''Yes.''

''Why?''

Her hands linked together nervously. Should she sit? Or remain standing as he did? She escaped into the conversation, not knowing what else to do.

''My mother accepted his hand.'' She told him, softly. ''I refused him right away. He put his hands on me until I swiftly kicked a particular area of which he is fond of, or so I hear.''

Jack's smile curled her toes. Beneath his own loving exterior, he felt the flames of anger at Hockley. For putting his hands-on Rose; in any way.

"Do you have any notion of how brave you are?'' A flush swept over her face. He shut the door to the hallway and locked it. The soft click of the latch rippled through her.

''Brave I am not. I told him that my heart was with you. As it thoroughly is.''

Facing her, he shrugged out of his coat. ''Rose.'' He swiftly unfastened the buttons of his waistcoat. Rose found she could not look away, despite the voice in her head that lectured about privacy and proper maidenly modesty. She cleared her throat so she could speak. "You sent for me without telling me why. I thought that you were mad at me.''

''Never, my love.'' He came to her. His hands sweeping across her face and through her hair unbound her. ''I needed to have you close to me.'' He allowed her to fall against him. ''Will and I have a plan of some sort. We discussed it at some length and he is to return tomorrow.''

''You are working with your brother?''

''Yes.''

''How do you feel?''

He hesitated. ''I have yet to explore that side. I have yet to tell him of his own mother's involvement of our fathers' death. But, with you, I feel-''

''Wonderful?'' She finished for him. ''Intimate in a way which one never had the privilege of before?'' She admitted, her mouth drying as he untied and unwound his cravat, baring his throat. The sight was intensely provocative to her. His skin was darker than her own, firmer. She wanted desperately to touch it, to feel him swallow beneath her fingertips.

''Yes.''

She took it from him, he allowed her to stroke her hands across his neck downwards. She tossed his cravat on the floor, then yanked his shirtsleeves over his head. Rose's knees weakened and she staggered over to the nearest chair, half-sinking and half-falling into it. Dear God, he was beautiful. Astonishingly, breathtakingly so. She remembered how she had felt the urge to touch him the first time he had stood shirtless before her. He had been so hard beneath her questing fingers, like stone. She could see why. Her hand lifted to her throat. As dry as her mouth had been, it was now flooded with moisture. She had never seen a rendering of a male body that could compare. The washboard-like cording of muscles across his abdomen and the light dusting of dark hair that thinned into a fine line were new to her. And delightful. Her gaze followed the trail to where it disappeared beneath the placket of his breeches. Then lower . . . The knot in her stomach tightened. He was such a blatantly masculine creature. Primitive in the most vital of ways.

When he didn't move, she jerked her gaze upward to find him staring back at her. A tight smile preceded him to fall to his knees before her. He had allowed her to look her fill, she realised.

She was enamoured with the sight of him. Smitten as she'd thought she could never be. There was nothing she would alter about him, nothing she found fault with. In that moment, she was certain she would pay any price for the pleasure of looking upon him indefinitely. The sensations moving through her were drugging and addictive. She wondered helplessly if there was any way she could feel like this every day.

''I cannot even tell you what you mean to me. I was bewitched by you from the day you came into the barn, half clothed.'' He half smiled, his voice saturated with affection.

''I was running.'' She whispered. ''From Hockley, from the way Trudy had fallen in love- yet I was so convinced that I would never have that same. I wanted to know that some body, some day would look at me the way that you do.''

"From the moment I first saw you, I desired you and knew I had to have you. Since then, I have come to realise it isn't mere craving that drives me. It is wanting, Rose. I want you. I've never wanted anything in my life, until you. Nothing. Do you understand what I'm saying? Gaining and losing a possession means nothing to me. There is always a replacement." He got to his feet, quickly.

"I understand." She allowed him to pull her to her feet. "But I don't know what conclusion to draw from that understanding." He gestured for her to face away from him.

"I ceased trying to find reason in it. I cannot waste any more time trying to puzzle out what I don't know. I must act on what I do know—you are the one thing in the world I want, and I can have you. I'm also lacking the scruples that would prevent me from doing whatever is necessary to keep you.''

''Your blood?''

He nodded.

''Please, don't feel that is a concern of mine. It isn't.''

She settled herself against his bare chest, feeling the way he ran his hands against her cheeks.

''I would do anything for you.''

She placed a finger to his lips to silence him. ''Then, love me, for that is all that I want. And to be your wife. If that is what you still want of me?''

''Oh, Rose. I would marry you tomorrow if I had your mother's blessing.''

''Stuff. This is not of her, but of me, take me now, as I am. The debts are forgotten.''

''Never, my love. I promised such a thing and it was taken care of this morn.''

Rose stepped back a moment. ''How so?''

Jack frowned. ''I paid a visit to the creditors. Please, do not be mad, my love. I wanted your future taken care of, and your mothers too.''

Rose stilled.

''What is it?''

''Lord Hockley told me that he was the one to pay the debts.''

''No, my love.''

She parted her lips but he silenced her, this time his finger was the one upon her lips. ''Hush. Please do not speak of him, now. I cannot bear to think of him hurting you in such a way. That would cause me to go to him now, to end his life.''

She melted against his body and he held her in a way which she had only imagined she could be. Rose looked straight ahead, which was a straight-line view into Jack's bedroom. The bed was directly in front of her, custom-made from the size of it.

''You are giving me too much time to think," she groused, averting her gaze from the bed. Jack laughed softly, the moment of levity sufficient to lighten some of the incertitude preying on her. She was achingly aware of everything around her, when what she wanted was to be lost to the barrage of sensations, he could so easily overwhelm her with. She stood there for a long moment, lip quivering.

''You make me nervous,'' he whispered against her hair. ''Are you not nervous?''

''No.'' She turned, the determination shining in her eyes. ''Put your hands on me, Jack.''


	13. Chapter 13

**Rated M, cos, well y'know 😉**

 **Chapter thirteen,**

His fingers went to the buttons that secured the back of her gown and released them with laudable dexterity. He pressed his lips to the top of her bared shoulder. The back of her gown gaped open and he pushed it free of her shoulders, then down to the floor. The draught of the room flashed across her bare skin as goose bumps appeared across her body, but she was unsure of whether the cold was the real culprit for the effect on her.

"Step out," he ordered. She obeyed, too overwhelmed to do otherwise.

Jack watched her with those intense blue eyes, his body made golden by the flickering candlelight.

How many times had he experienced this sequence of events to be so nonchalant? Dozens? She would not be surprised. What woman could resist him? Her jaw clenched.

He leaned forward ever so slightly, so that their lips came into contact for just the briefest few moments. Rose felt her heart flutter. Gently, Jack took her right hand in his left and moved forward once again. He kissed her again with more passion than the first time. She could feel his warmth next to her, but yet she still shivered. As his lips moved on hers, she struggled to even breath, to think and to even stand. The outside world seemed to disappear. It was just them now. No more words were needed to express what each felt towards the other.

This was the moment which she played over and over in her head and yet she hadn't managed to prepare herself enough for what would happen. The turns of events which had led them both to this moment had to have meant something.

Jack wrestled with the urge to keep kissing her; he knew he couldn't stop now.

''Rose, I can't hold this in anymore. I can't.'' He whispered breathlessly as he leant forward to kiss her again. This time it wasn't soft, it was hungrier; as though a primal need existed in both of them which neither knew had been there. Their hands entwined and touched each other. He clutched her to him tightly and held her there. She leant against him, feeling her body ache so much. She was so intoxicated that she couldn't stop. They both needed to relive the tension which had built up between them for so long. Jack's tongue massaged hers so strongly that she felt the strength of it. She had never felt a kiss like it, never experienced these emotions from a person. They pulled each other so closely as though their lives depended on it. The passion which had exploded was immense and she felt the need to feel his naked torso pressed so tightly against her own, just as she had since that very first night in the horse shed. She could hear his breathe, the raggedness and the struggle. She had her own struggle but now she felt the unhappiness drain away from her body and it was replaced by a strong need to be with Jack; an almost animal longing which only grew stronger.

She pushed him away for a moment with her right hand on his chest. The distance made her feel cold and lonely even though he was simply a step or two away. He scared her, consumed her in every way possible.

''Marry me,'' he urged softly, ''be mine.''

The words were so tender and as her eyes fell on the man, half-clothed aside her, ready and willing to give himself to her fully, she felt her entire legs want to buckle beneath her. Been apart from him was painful.

Rose launched herself at him. Two running steps and a wild leap, and she was upon him, burying her face as far into the crook of his neck as she could. He caught her, laughing. Lifting her feet from the floor, he spun and strode into the bedroom.

"Is that a yes?" he teased, setting her down at the foot of the bed. He looked at her with such an expression of proprietary pride that her throat tightened.

''Possibly.''

Pivoting on his bare feet, Jack locked the bedroom door.

"I thought we were the only ones here?" she queried, her heart still racing from her leap off the proverbial cliff. From his urge to take her to the altar. From the way she was stood before him; clad in just her undergarments. There was something beautiful about the entire thing.

"You are assuming I'm locking others out, instead I am keeping you in.''

The thought of capture excited her. She had run willingly into the lion's den, and now there was no turning back. He leaned back against the door, his palms pressed flat to the panels and one ankle crossed over the other. The perfect appearance of insouciant leisure. But he'd never been able to hide his predaceous nature from her. She had seen it from the first and she saw it now: the high colour on his throat and cheekbones, the fine sheen of sweat on his chest, the flaring of his nostrils, and the narrowed, concentrated gaze. One wrong move and he would pounce . . . Reaching up, she began to pull very few pins from her hair. She dropped them on the floor, one by one, as she'd done with his cravat. There was something oddly freeing in that carelessness. The act of tossing aside the trappings that restrained. Here in this room with Jack, she could finally cast off the confusing strictures of society and be what she had always wanted to be—liberated and independent. After the last pin dropped, she shook out her hair, relishing the tingling of her scalp. She was clad in only her loosened stays and pantalettes, but she was not embarrassed or cold. There was no way she could be, when warmed by a stare as heated as Jack's. He didn't move, barely blinked. As the silence lengthened, she lost courage and clasped her hands in front of her.

"You are so beautiful, Rose." His hand lifted to his chest and rubbed, as if to soothe a pain there. "I adore your freckles. Do you have them everywhere?" She bit her lower lip and nodded.

"It is the bane of red hair, I'm afraid."

"I will kiss every one of them," he vowed. "They are delightful."

"Nonsense," she scoffed. "No one likes freckles."

Jack's eyes twinkled in the light of the bedside tapers.

''Never doubt any part of yourself, Rose. Never.''

The way his gaze fell upon her face made her feel more beautiful than she could ever even imagine. Here she was, clad in very little, with a man who wasn't her husband. She was innocent to the ways of the world, but she was willing to allow him to guide her. Willing to give himself to her. Willing to be his.

"I am mad for every inch of you," she pronounced with heartfelt fervency. "The way you smell. The cut of your hair. The line of your jaw. I'm especially taken with your hands. I can feel the strength in them when you touch me. You could crush my bones in your grip, but instead you are so gentle." He held both hands out, offering them to her. She rushed forward, knowing his touch would calm and distract her.

"Sometimes I fear crushing you," he confessed with a hitch in his voice. Catching his hands with hers, Rose pressed a kiss into each palm. The way they touched her meant the world to her. Here, within his grasp, she felt thoroughly safe.

"Is that why you stand so still?"

"Yes."

She lowered her lashes to the floor.

"What would you do, if you had no need for restraint?"

As before, he brought her hand to rest over his heart, allowing her to feel its racing. It was his way of telling her just how he felt of her. How she made him feel the flickers of happiness which he imagined were long since burned out. His heart beat; raced, purely for her.

''I-I-'' He was afraid of what to say. Afraid that he didn't know the answer to the question himself. Restraint was the one thing which had kept him at bay from her for many weeks but then, he had slowly given into the pressure and allowed her into his life, allowed himself to see her, to fall in love with her. He had fought the restraints of the world for so long. He had hidden for too damned long.

Rose pressed her lips together. ''This is why I have suffered such melancholia, I-'' she needed to say more but she simply didn't know what to say. He had affected her in such a way that words were sometimes hard to come by. The stiffened ways of Society had shaped her into an idea adolescent bride for a man to claim by his own account, but here she was about to give herself to someone who she knew would hesitantly take her, but who would love her with all of his heart. She was in control of everything. This was his way of ensuring that she steered her own destiny. With him, there were no restraints, no rules and the Society had faded away in the back of their minds, so that they existed in a world where it just the two of them. Alone. She ached for him again and this time it was her who crushed her body to his and her lips against his.

Jack could feel himself losing control even more than he already had and he didn't know how to stop it. He wasn't strong enough to. Rose fell against his body and he used his weight to hold her up. How could a person so petite cause a man of his stamina to struggle? He was weakened for her. He stopped kissing her lips and trailed soft hungry kisses down her neck and she shivered.

''What would you do, if there was no need for us to restrain ourselves?'' She whispered, repeating her earlier question.

He pulled his lips away from her neck as he pressed his thumb to her lips as though he was massaging them gently. He pressed his forehead to hers.

''I would marry you, without a hesitation,'' he kissed her just once, his voice low and deep, ''then I would protect you with my own life until death parted us.''

Jack grabbed her hips, feeling Rose's skin beneath her stays. She turned around with her backside pressed against his stomach. She could feel the warmth which burnt against her back. He moved her hair to one side and trailed kisses all the way around her neck so gently that she shivered, feeling her whole body numb and tingle all over. Slowly, she turned around, taking in just how beautiful he really was in the dim light of the room. She felt his hands on her waist and he seemed to massage her hips through the stays. She dragged her hands through his hair and then stopped for a moment. He ran his index finger over her shoulder he pulled away to play with the bow detail upon her stay. Her lips parted as she tried to comprehend just what would happen beyond this moment.

''Are you going to make love to me?'' She whispered shyly, sensing the way he stilled and then he hesitated. He took a breath, before he scanned her beautiful face. His heart melted right there on the floor before them both. The physical act of love was something which he had thought of, course he had, with Rose. He was still a man above everything else, but he knew of her innocence. He had no intention of taking her into his bed until after they had wed, even then, he would have waited for her.

She closed her eyes and placed the palm of her hands against the door for support.

''Oh, Rose,'' he exhaled, ''I want to, but-''

She quickly silenced him by placing a finger upon his lips.

There was something about revealing herself fully to him; it was beautiful and she wasn't sure she was ready to, just yet. She glanced to him and gave him a small smile, almost shyly. He stepped towards her not exactly knowing why; just feeling he had to be close to her.

Rose lowered her lashes before their eyes met and interlocked. Silence fell upon them for several seconds, both of them feeling their heart pound. Suddenly, Jack could take no more, he had to kiss her, and be close to her. He pulled her body towards his and their lips met. It was soft but so full of passion.

Jack kissed Rose's neck breathlessly, every movement sending sharp spirals of shock down her shine and then back up as she crumbled for him. After a minute, she pushed him away slightly, confusion knitted across his face. He thought he had hurt her or moved too fast. Her left hand reached out, slowly, her shaky fingertips caressed his chest. He trembled, looking downwards and swallowing heavily, he couldn't believe she was doing this. She ran her hand across his bare chest and stomach, feeling the strength beneath it. Curiously, she watched as he slowly breathed beneath her touch, the breaths becoming quicker and shallower. He was affected by her, too. Just the way she was him. Her hand worked downwards to his stomach, stroking up the left side beneath his rib and then to the right where she found a small scar which she had failed to notice before. It was raised beneath her gentle finger.

Her eyes silently questioned him.

''A knife wound.'' He whispered, answering her silent query. ''The night my father died.''

Slowly, she bit her lip. She tilted her head, lowering it to just beneath his right rib where her lips came into contact with the healed wound. He shivered, the kiss causing his entire body to tremble in a way he never had before.

Jack pulled Rose to him. He slowly undid the buttons of her stays, slowly and one by one to ensure she had enough time to stop him if she wished to. She didn't. She couldn't. It fell away from her body with a whisper, sliding from his fingertips to the floor. He wrapped his arms around her keeping their torsos pressed together, he pressed her against the wall and kissed her again. She could feel cold shivers running down her back, not from the lack of heat but from his touch, his presence and the way he held her as though she was the strongest, yet most fragile thing which he had ever touched.

His hand slipped down and ran across the top of her exposed breasts. His heart was racing as he glanced downwards. Her breasts were as perfect as he had imagined. They just barely escaped his hand as he held them. Her nipples jutted up at him, tiny goose bumps were everywhere. Her skin was the colour of ivory. Tiny freckles appeared over her breasts. Rose watched his blue eyes, as he seemed mesmerised with her chest. His eyes seemed to avoid hers, slipping away to stare at the ground. It wasn't like him. His fingertips glided along the back of her leg, causing Rose to sigh. The noise seemed to stop him. His eyes came up to look at her face but once he saw the smile, his nerves dispelled.

He caught her mouth once again and this time she knew he wouldn't stop kissing her. He managed to lift her into his arms and carry her to the bed. He lay on top of her and their lips hadn't parted until he got onto his knees to remove her stockings. She felt so exposed to him and there was something so beautiful about it. His eyes twinkled in the dim light, watching her with such adoration, she knew that he was in love with her. She could feel it. Tears sprang to her eyes from the intensity of the moment, and he wasn't even unclothed, yet. He noticed, leaning over her body so that their bodies were almost pressed together. His thumb ran beneath her lash line, rubbing away the watery reminder of the depth of her feelings for Jack.

''Be mine,'' he urged her in a whisper, once more.

''I already am.''

''Truly?''

She nodded, with her head laid back against the plush pillow.

''Truly.''

He backed up onto his knees. Unbuttoning the placket of his breeches, he pulled them off expertly yet managing to keep his balance. Mentally, she couldn't help but wonder how many times he had done this act for another but there was something wonderful about the way she watched him, as though he was purely doing this for her. No other had ever existed before her. She held her breath as he removed his undergarments. And there he was; naked before her. Her lips parted, her breathing seemed to stop as though she had forgotten how to do the things which were the most natural to her.

'' _Jack,''_ she whispered, her hands grasping the sheets of the counterpane just to ensure that this moment was in fact real. It wasn't a dream that she had yet to wake up from.

''I know.''

His eyes were focused between her legs as she spread them for him, slowly. In an instant he was on top of her, his mouth on hers. She felt his tongue dive deep into her mouth as tiny fiery threads ran down her spine. His hands were rough as he pulled her legs up against his sides. Hot desperate lips found her breasts and then his hands gripped them. This was what she had wanted for so long. She noted the way that suddenly, she wasn't thinking so much as she was before. She was lost in the serene, beautiful moment which she would never believe to be a true one as they truly entwined with each other.

He tenderly touched her hair as it spread on the pillow around her face. He stopped kissing her just long enough to find her eyes. He found them sparkling. Her innocence shone through so radiantly. In the back of his mind, was the reminder that he was not good for her. Taking her virginity in this moment would ensure that she wasn't pure for another in the event of her marrying a man who wasn't him. One with better prospects.

She was willing to give herself to him. He pressed himself against her and she closed her eyes for a moment.

''I'm nervous,'' she told him, pressing her lips to his stubbly cheek, relishing the feel of his alien weight atop her.

''As am I.''

Slowly, she moved her hips to position herself at his tip and then she moved downwards. It was painful but bearable. She pulled his face into her neck, grasping her arms around his shoulders with all of her weight. He felt her pain as he navigated his way. She didn't tense the way he expected, she relaxed against his tight grip after a few seconds. The entire experience was surreal.

''Don't stop.'' She urged, causing him to try again, this time he was more forceful. She tightened against his body, the pain subsiding after a few seconds. He closed his eyes, blindly finding her lips and cherishing her with his entire being. His life had been littered with very few blessings but this moment would be one which he would take with him for the rest of his life. He would protect her, guard her and ensure she was never hurt by another. The overwhelming warmth which she had once ignited upon their first meeting in his stomach seemed to be spewing out of his body all over, the moment so intense he could almost cry himself. Aside from his parents, he had never been loved. He had rarely felt it, but at this moment, he had never been surer of anything in his twenty years of living.

The complications of even been near him were frightening. Those he loved seemed to die, at the hands of Lord Hockley. He had told her to stay away, that he was dangerous; that hadn't changed but he had come to the conclusion that these risks had to be worth it. They had to be. They would be. He would make sure of it.

He opened his eyes for a moment and came face-to-face with Rose. He saw that her lips were swollen. They curved into a smile before he moved his mouth to kiss her once again.

He had fallen in love with her; a blue blood, beautiful young woman with many capabilities. A woman who was wanted by all his peers, a woman wanted by his enemy and yet, she had chosen him. Praying for a miracle couldn't have provided him with such happiness.

Her legs around his waist tightened, pulling him into her in every way. They were fully entwined.

All caution was thrown to the wind from then on.

Once he had finished, he didn't stop, he couldn't and he knew he wouldn't be able to for a long time.


	14. Chapter 14

**Arghh, usually wouldn't update so early after the last one, but the amount of messages I have got about this story has propelled me to post! Honestly, the love for it is amazing, I can only thank you guys and hope that its enjoyed! I am writing my little hands off to finish this story as I am just at chapter 20 aka the juicy bits :) but, thanks for the love!**

Chapter fourteen,

There was no place in Jack's life for Rose DeWitt. His life before her had been so carefully planned out to not leave room for such a thing as love. He hadn't left room for anything other than the work which he had submerged himself into; primarily helping others. It left him not a single second to think of himself, or any needs aside from bathing, eating, sleeping and attending the tailor and the barbers when the time called for a trim and when the seasons fashions were called upon to change. These were the things which he had needed in order to continue his work, his life and so anything else had been discarded.

He lay on his side with his head propped in his hand, watching her as she napped. Strands of her beautiful hair clung to her damp forehead and cheeks. Her lips were parted, her chest lifting and falling in the measured tempo of slumber. She lay on her stomach, baring twin dimples in each curve of her extremely enticing buttocks. Spread out as she was, naked and rosy-skinned and debauched, it was easy to imagine keeping her there in his bed. But it was only an illusion. His gaze lifted and swept around the nearly empty room. Aside from the bed and washstand, there was only a wardrobe and chair for furnishings. This evening with Rose was the longest stretch of time he'd spent awake in his bedchamber since he took up residence in the house. In the normal course of his life, there would be laughter and loud voices filtering up from the lower floor. He would be adhering to a tight schedule, working as many hours as possible to keep income flowing. After all, there was nothing he wanted done that didn't require coin to see to it. Or at least that's what he told himself. Coin was now starting to matter less and less. His father's legacy was carried onto Sedgewick. Try as he might, Jack couldn't picture Rose in any part of his home beyond this private space.

The men who worked for him were coarse and sometimes ill-mannered. They would have no notion of what to do with a lady like Rose, he wouldn't expect them to, for most had spent their lives without a lady present in their life. He had no dining table at which to feed her, no formal parlour in which she could entertain what few guests would deign to call on her here. His home was less than half the size of her own and located in a part of town that, while acceptable, had never been fashionable. Things would have to change drastically . . . Rose made a soft noise. He looked at her and found her rousing. She blinked, then rubbed at her eyes. He watched her vision focus on him. Awareness swept over her face along with a heated blush. She grew unnaturally still.

"Ah," he murmured, smiling. "Hello, my love.''

"You look smug," she accused, but with warmth in her eyes.

"Do I?" He stroked his hand down the curve of her back. How could he resist, when she looked at him as she was doing now?

"If I do, so should you." He knew some of her feelings were inspired by the aftermath of orgasmic bliss and gratitude for it, but some of them were more deeply rooted. God knew he had never expected nor wanted anyone to love him, but he'd have a better chance of keeping Rose if her attachment deepened. She looked at her fingers, which toyed with a wrinkle in the counterpane.

"I did nothing."

Jack tapped the end of her nose with his finger.

"You did everything.''

Rose remained strangely quiet.

"Sixpence for your thoughts," he said, aware of tension eating into his contentment. "Is regret setting in?" The thought unsettled him. He had attempted to calm the passions between them but it had failed. His hesitance in taking her into his bed before they had wed was something which he knew he should have paid more attention to, but now, as she lay here with him, he could never imagine anything more perfect.

"No. No regrets," she replied carefully, glancing at him. His eyes were twinkling with something which she couldn't put her finger on.

''The day we met, you assumed I was waiting in that barn for a young chit.'' He smirked, discarding his earlier thoughts.

''Weren't you?''

''No. Never. I never have.''

Rose's head lay on Jack's chest as he stroked her still damp hair. She draped her left arm over his chest. They were still naked with their bodies pressed so close together. This whole experience was so new to her. The intimacy which came with Jack felt so beautiful. She fought sleep as she felt so peaceful, they had laid in silence for some time with their own thoughts. This moment was one which she never wanted to end. They were comfortable to simply lay and just be with the other without a need to talk. Jack's fingers threaded through her hair and she could feel his breathing so steady and the strong beat of his heart compared to how it had hammered against hers just before.

Her eyes watched the room and how empty it was in comparison to her own. It wasn't homely, not even for a bachelor. It was a mere space to lay one's head to rest before rising with the sun to return to work. Everything about the man she lay with was so blurred. She knew very little of him, and yet, she knew the truth about his life, possibly more than any other human. The alien notion of lying naked with a man was surreal, beautiful and yet, she knew that she could never return to her old ways. This had to be within her life going forward.

She contemplated everything in her head, just how happy she was laying here with him. She thought of how many other women he had been so intimate with, if any, but of course she knew there would have been others. She toyed with the idea of asking him, knowing it was not her business but, still the curiosity got the better of her.

''How many lovers have you had?''

She propped herself up on her elbow to look at him. Her voice was soft but full of wonder. He stroked her hair as he hesitated his answer, it was something he had never once been asked before. The truth was the only answer which he could give to her.

''Three,'' he furrowed his brow, ''four.'' He corrected. He watched as she laid her head back against his steel chest, seemingly satisfied with the idea.

''Did you pay for the services?''

''Of course not.'' He replied, gruffly, somewhat offended. ''A man's visit to the gentleman's club is his own business, but certainly one I never intended on doing.''

She relished the feel of her skin against his. How coarse his fingers were compared to her delicate ones. How hard his body was compared to her softer, femininity. Such a stark contrast and one which she was thoroughly intrigued by.

''Were you never lonely?''

He contemplated. ''I never believed that I was, until I met you. Now, without you, I am cold and alone. The contrast to you been here within my chamber is vast.''

The thought of laying alone in the bed without her, even for one night was a cold thought, but he knew that she could never stay with him, at least until they had wed, if she accepted his love proposal.

''Did you love any of those women you have taken into your bed?''

Jack sighed, ''no, Rose.'' It was true. ''I had been taken by the moment, simply a few times with each person. There are no feelings to note of.''

She ran a finger down to just above his bellybutton before stopping. His stomach sucked in at her action.

''How many times have you been in love?'' Her voice was small, timid and curious. He couldn't have silenced her questions even if he wished to.

He was silent for before a moment before continuing to stroke her hair.

''Only once.'' He whispered, as his voice went hoarse. ''How many times have you been in love?''

''Once, Jack.'' She too, whispered so softly.

There it was - the unspoken words. He closed his eyes and found her lips. Rose's fingers moved featherlight over the flesh of his upper arm. Then, she grew bolder and squeezed. Her gaze moved over his chest and abdomen followed by her hands. She lingered over his stomach, tracing every ridge of muscle. A visible shiver moved through him as his hand came up to stroke her face.

''We are wrong for each other.'' He whispered, burying his face into the crook of her neck. ''I should have left you alone. I should have fought with myself.''

Rose kissed him quiet. She knew that he wasn't regretting their beautiful exchange but the sheer fear of her involvement within his life was frightening to him, to them both but it was one which she wouldn't succumb to. She knew every risk but they were all worth taking, for him.

''I want to be the only one for you. The one who is in your head, who you never forget...'' Jack thrust his fingers into her hair and took a mouth in a long, deep kiss. She writhed beneath his body, feeling utterly exposed and yet exhilarated at the same time. She was lost in herself, in him and their own small world which he had created for just the two of them. When his naked torso pressed against hers, she was no longer ashamed or self-conscious of anything. His hand reached up, stroking across her cheek and down her neck in small circles.

''You are, my love. There will never be another, nor has there ever been.'' He pressed his lips to her cheek, urgency injected into the single kiss.

''Tell me, Jack.'' She urged in between kissing his face in return. ''Tell me everything.''

He glanced up to her, a frown crossing his beautiful face. He silently questioned her.

''Tell me everything.''

A deep 'v' crossed his forehead, as he struggled internally with some secret battle.

''Unburden yourself.'' She whispered. ''Let me into your heart.''

''Oh, Rose, you already are, God knows how much.''

With such a tender hand, she stroked the hair away from his face. The pure innocence of the woman laying beneath him caused his entire insides to warm. The need inside him to reveal every last drop of detail about himself curled inside him. He knew her; he loved her. He had known of her father's debt, her mother's controlling ways, the melancholia which had taken over her body at times and yet, he wanted her still. Nothing could have turned him away from her and nor would it ever.

He would have to tell her, to allow her into his life and only then could she make her own decisions of him.

''My Father's money allows me to help others.'' He started, shakily. ''The men who reside here were homeless at one point or another. They were widowed, tossed out of their homes. All of them had perhaps turned to smaller crimes just to ensure that they got by daily. Sometimes they hadn't eaten for days, their stomachs were empty and some had families with smaller mouths to feed.''

He lay back on his side before turning onto his back. He clasped his hands across his stomach and Rose rested her hand just atop, softly, as she listened.

''I know, in my younger years, what it was like to be profoundly hungry. My mother fended for us as best as she could, sometimes it wasn't enough which would kill her even more. She went days, weeks without a scrap just to fill my mouth once for that day. She fainted, hallucinated, cried...She knew my father had money and sometimes he would struggle to get any food to us in Ireland, especially during the brutal winter months. He would send money at times but that wasn't enough to get us by until his next visit. The restrictions placed upon us all were suffocating.''

''I have never heard anything so brutal.'' Rose pressed a kiss to his shoulder.

''The reality of that life was abysmal. My Mother stole a loaf of bread here or there, praying that she wasn't caught and would be allowed to keep her fingers. She prayed for us every night but God never seemed to smile on us poor folk. He seemed to favour those already rolling in the money, basking in the joy of their jewels and shiny carriages without a care in the world for those less fortunate than them. They would frown, kick us to the ground like dogs.''

Rose breathed quietly, for fear of disturbing his story. His breathing had quickened, the anger simmering beneath his lungs and she slowly drew circles atop his hand to soothe it away as best as she could.

''The Hockley's were too damned rich; it wasn't earnt. It was robbed. Some from my father, I later learnt. Nathan would claim anything he could which belonged to my Father, to anyone else. But if someone was to return the favour, Hell broke loose.''

Rose recalled a story from some weeks before.

''Just like when Caledon went to America? He was supposed to have gained the rights to a steel business. One which was making millions each year. The founder passed away whilst he was over there, not long before the deeds had been given to the Hockley's, ensuring that in the event of death, Caledon would be the remaining owner with access to the profits.''

''Yes, exactly like that.''

Jack hadn't heard the full extent of Hockley's trip to America. Nor did he want to knowing just how much anger it would release when he was already struggling to keep it contained.

''What do you intend to do of Caledon Hockley?'' Rose asked, her eyes wide with expectant fear.

He swallowed, hesitantly focusing on what to tell her. His silence told her that he would withhold details as best as he could.

''Tell me,'' she urged, ''I want to be involved.''

''No, Rose.'' Jack snapped, his voice sharp. He softened upon seeing the surprise but he didn't apologise. She knew the raised voice was from his protection of her and nothing else. ''You can't be involved.''

''Why not?''

Jack sighed, heavily. ''Because it is for Sedgwick and I to handle. This is what we have waited for.''

Rose avoided his pleading gaze but a clammy hand grasped hers.

''I understand,'' she nodded to him, ''but I have to know, for if anything happened to you then I wouldn't bare it. I can't bare not knowing.'' Her eyes shone with unshed tears. He bit into his lip harshly, so hard it was white with the force. She pressed her finger to it gently and he released it without hesitation. He swallowed harshly as he continued to wrestle with the guilt of his involvement with her.

''Nothing will take me away from you. Please, can you just trust that much. I made a promise to marry you, and if you want me to become your husband then I shall.''

She shook her head. ''But I want a husband who will come home to me each night. I cannot live with any secrets.''

Jack wanted to smile at her persistence. She was a stubborn woman. One who wouldn't back down. He could envision that within their marriage. A fight which he knew from this day that he would never win.

''The truth is, my brother wished to hence to his manse just last night and to take Hockley's life right then and there. I resisted.''

Rose wasn't surprised. ''Do you propose otherwise?''

Jack shrugged his heavy shoulders. ''I intend to make him look foolish for all that he has ever done. For death is too easy of a way out for a man like him.''

Rose lifted a hand to his face, stroking across his cheeks. He was a young man with the weight upon his shoulders. One which shouldn't burden him so often. He sometimes was like a young boy and others he bore the frown of an older man, one who had lived through life and suffered roughly for a score of years.

''How old are you?''

He turned to her, realising that she didn't even know that much of him.

''Twenty.'' He smiled. ''This Christmas past.''

''Truly? A baby born upon the same day as Christ himself.''

''If you believe such nonsense, then yes.''

She settled back against him.

''I am the fourteenth of the same month.''

''A December birth, also? Perhaps we are made to belong with the other.''

Rose laughed lightly. He loved the sound and it caused the dark mood to shift into a playful one once more. He could grow used to this life with her. She made him complete. The hole inside of him, the sore wound, was healing.

''If you believe such nonsense, perhaps you are right.'' She echoed his earlier statement and he couldn't help but raised his eyebrows at her tongue. A lady bantering back at a man was sorely unheard of.

They say that life is a game of luck. Of who can boast the land, the expansive homes, the shipping fleet...Jack Dawson had often wonder when his luck would come in. His uncle had told him to wait for his fortune. For his backbreaking work would pay off one day. Perhaps, this was the day he had been speaking of. Wealth, landscapes, jewels...none of it was worth even half of what Rose meant to him. His money meant nothing to him, the inherited or the earnt.

He steadied his breathing, focusing on the dim light beside the bed. Rose sensed his amusement and then felt it diminish as fast as it had come.

''Jack?''

''The men who work for me, they focus on stealing back what was once rightfully theirs,'' he begun the sentence which would change his fate. She could run from him right now once she knew what his involvement was in. ''Or what doesn't belong to people, like the Hockley's and they give it to the less fortunate ones. The children who don't have families, to the war widows, to people who struggle to find a scrap of food or a night in sheltered accommodation. We help them. The damned problem is, that what we do isn't legal, if we were even found out then we would all be hung at dawn.''

If Rose wasn't awed by him before, then she was now. Her hand came across his stomach, crushing her body to his, claiming him as her own. He brought his hands to her bare shoulders, encouraged by her affections that she wasn't repulsed by his reveal.

''We help so many people that just when you think of stopping, you just can't. You think of who needs you out there. I see mothers gifted a sack of potatoes, fresh vegetables, a loaf of bread and a plucked turkey or duck waiting to be boiled and they clutch at you, happy to be able to feed their children that week. Farmers who need tools to do their work. Young children who are getting an education. It will never be the same as a proper school but they will learn to read and write. To do basic math and write a letter when need be. Why should people be punished for that?''

Rose pushed up onto her elbow.

''But what you're doing isn't wrong, Jack.''

''But it isn't right.'' He pressed his lips to her forehead. ''You knowing this has put you in an even more dangerous situation than you were already in. If anything happened to you-''

''It won't.'' She whispered. And she meant it. Nothing could ever harm her whilst Jack was with her. His work had moved her, urged her to realise the importance of what mattered. ''Thank you for telling me what you did.''

He nodded. It had been the right decision to be honest with her and at that precise moment.

''I trust you.''

''I know, as I trust you, too.''

He cupped her neck, feeling at how warm she was. Her clothes were spread across his floors, his knowledge within her head. She had given herself to him. They had become one, on all levels which were even humanly possible.

''It's not wrong. You are a good man. With good intentions. Never allow another to tell you any different.''

He shook his head. All of his life he had heard different.

''You shouldn't have come near me, I should have stayed away but I just couldn't.'' He was angry with himself even now, but all there was left to do is protect her. He knew that letting her go would never be an option for they could never survive. They would be weakened. Scarred. Dead.

''You shouldn't love me, Rose.''

His voice was laced with something she had not heard before and it broke her heart. She knew that beneath the steely exterior was a young man who had never fully allowed himself to be loved. He had never felt love. He had never experienced intimacy in any shape or form. The act was new to even Rose, but she vowed in that moment to spend every second of her life ensuring that he felt as cherished as he was. Her hand came up his chest, his neck to his face. He was so scarred in so many ways, mentally and physically. Her lips parted as she tried to suppress a sob. She couldn't cry for his past, she had no right to, but she could be his future.

''But I do.''

Before she could breath, his lips sealed over hers with a newfound and sheer love which she had never even dreamed to exist. He climbed in between her legs and rolled over so that he was on top of her. He held himself up using his elbows and as he was still as he found her eyes. They spoke so much to him, brimmed with tears and filled with so much love. She was so pure that it stole his breath. Her heartbeat beneath his hammered against his skin and Jack's own raced to match her rhythm.

He made love to her again only this time it was slow and meaningful as though something inside them had flipped in those few short sentences. He wouldn't let his eyes leave hers as he felt her body shake within his arms. She couldn't let go of him and he couldn't let go of her.


	15. Chapter 15

Arghh, cannot keep up with the messages regarding this so all I can say is thank you to each and every one of you! Your reviews, likes, favs, msgs all mean so much knowing you enjoy the story!

Chapter fifteen,

From the interior of an unmarked carriage, William Sedgewick watched the Hockley manse with narrowed eyes. It was a Sunday morning, surely a time for the family to attend the prayers. But, the bell at St Agnes church had stopped chiming forty minutes before but still neither Caledon or his father Nathan had left the home. Not a soul had even come to the window. The signs of life in the house were non-existent which infuriated him even more than he already was.

Will drew back the curtain once more, drumming his gloves fingers upon the calf skinned seats, his impatience apparent. If one was taking note of the carriage by this point, his incessant looking out of the draped window would have alerted passer-by to his presence, but that thought had been shoved from his mind a little while before, for in this moment he cared none.

''Oh, for Heaven's sake.'' He pulled back the curtain as he retrieved his hat, placing it on his head in a swift motion. He got the attention of the driver with a low whistle and when the well dressed, middle aged man poked his head through the gap to show he had heard the command, he barked out an order. ''I will be going inside, circle the area for twenty or so minutes and then come back for me.''

''Aye, sir.'' The driver nodded, straightening his back as he prepared to go.

Will ascended the carriage with such a purpose, he was at the front door of the Hockley residence within seconds. With a pull of the reins, his carriage was gone. He was alone. The train of thoughts which he had arrived at the residence with were knocked from his mind as soon as the impatient anger had set in. Repeatedly, he cursed beneath his breath and now his steely confidence was all that shone. He had spent his entire life been known as a man of very little confidence, a man with the ability to do something but instead would sit on his backside and allow others to do it for him. No longer. He would from today be taking control of his own destiny and stepping aside from both his father and his brothers shadow.

He rapped at the door loudly, making his full presence known to the entire house. A second later, a mousy maid answered the door.

''Good afternoon, ma'am. I am here to see Mr. Hockley.''

She glanced him up from toe to hat. ''I'm sorry, sir, both father and son are indisposed at this moment.''

A quick glance at the small, white capped girl told him that she was indeed lying. Obviously following her orders which would have no doubt been given to all recent visitors. He smiled, knowingly.

''Well, ma'am. I appreciate that very much. May I just ask you step away from the door for just a moment?''

''I-'' She was startled by his gentlemanly manner, yet his voice was an unspoken threat. It took her a second to realise, with a swift glance into kind eyes, that he meant her no harm at all. She paused before nodding. ''Just a moment.''

With jellied legs, she removed her hands from the lock, stepping back and away from the door. Will took his chance, pushing open the door and stepping inside with the greatest of ease as though the residence was his own. From just inside his breast pocket, he pulled out a ten-pound note and he thrust it into her hands before she could register what had happened. The trembling of her fingers told him that she had never seen any coin as large in amounts. Her eyes were as wide as saucers as she watched his face for some note of a mistake.

''I assume I can trust your discretion?''

She nodded, timidly taking the note from him.

''Good, girl. Now, go along and wash those dishes or something. Keep that note away from prying eyes and spend it only on yourself or any dependants.''

''Yes, sir.'' She nodded.

'Now, where will I find the master?'' Will glanced about the extravagantly decorated hallway in which he stood within. Three rooms were situated before him but the doors were closed. He craned his neck to find the stairs straight ahead of him as he tried to familiarise himself with any other significance before he went deeper inside the manse.

''I am afraid that Lord Caledon Hockley is not home, sir. He hasn't been in a length.'' She lowered her voice. ''His Senior is abed, sir. They fear his days are numbered.''

Will raised his eyebrows. This was news to him. To all. No one about town had heard of his dwindling health, well, at least not that he was on the back end of his life. Word had it that the elder Hockley had improved in recent weeks, perhaps just a con to keep eyes away from the house.

''Indeed. Then, I have come at a good time.''

The maid hunched, wide eyed, waiting to be dismissed, as she clutched the large note within her tiny and water shrivelled fingers.

''Off you go.''

''Yes, sir.''

A quick curtsey and she was off. A lopsided smile crept across Will's face. He hadn't a plan, nor had he Jack Dawson's permission to be in this house but, acting on his own accord could pay them off handsomely, somehow. He could hope. Perhaps, in a way, he could handle this alone and get some sort of widespread recognition for single handily taking down the notorious family. His Mother would be very proud of that. She never spoke fondly of the family.

He dashed up the stairs, taking them two at a time. The esteemed, if slightly scandalously, Lord Sedgewick, an ancient title that carried a wealth of prestige, was trespassing. He could almost hear his own father scolding him, telling him just how little this entire thing was worth. This was no longer just about revenge, but it was personal, somehow more so than before. Jack was his half-brother, a fact he was still growing accustomed to, but that was worth more than he knew of in the past. He would stand beside him, of that he was dead sure. Now that he had another on his side, he felt the steel strength inside of him.

The upstairs walls were beautifully lined with expensive pieces of art. He narrowed his eyes at a few pieces, contemplating the Hockley tastes in furnishings when he was interrupted.

''Aye?'' An old man queried in a gravelly voice. ''Make yourself known, you sneaking runt.''

Will smirked, his lips twitching beyond his own control. Nathan Hockley may be dying but apparently his hearing was still as sharp as a tack. That would help him immensely today. Will followed the voice and he allowed himself into the first room on the right of a long, black and silver hued landing with high ceilings and prominent chandeliers.

''Well, I assume you're the lord of the manor at present time?''

Will paused on the threshold. He was faced with a very frail, thin and almost grey looking man laid upon countless pillows, blankets and other comforts. At the foot of the bed lay a trinket of tablets and beside the bed, a half bottle of whisky and a single glass. It was empty. At the last public show of face, Nathan had been a picture of health – that was numerous months ago. Now, the cancer had taken its toll upon the old man. On the floor up to the bed's edge, books were stacked along with newspapers; they were endless and countless. A man had to occupy his mind even when death was waiting.

''What if I am?''

Will stepped inside, as he handed over his calling card, out of curiosity. Nathan squinted at the lettering, bringing the card to an oddly protruding eye and then dropping his hand with a grunt. He gestured wildly to the window.

''I wish I could say I was in the cemetery out back.''

Rolling his eyes, Will steadied the frail man.

''Listen, old chap, my desire to be here is far less than your desire to have me here. I require some assistance. If you provide it, I can be on my way.''

Nathan studied him closely. ''What would you, the son of Lord Sedgewick, be needing from me?

''Are there any other men about the place?'' Will glanced out of the large window overlooking the manse gardens. It was clear. The grass needed a tending to, as did some of the shrubs. Perhaps that was another reason the Hockley's had failed to host a single garden party so far this season. ''Men who are capable of physical exertion?''

Nathan studied him with a blatant suspicion. ''If you enquire of my son, he is presently not even in the surrounding areas of London.''

''Excellent. That would give you and I the chance to acquaint.'' Will released a sigh of relief. As dead as he wanted Hockley, it would be better to speak with his dying father without a stab wound to any part of his body. He rounded the bed, coming to the bottle of whiskey, he eyed it before throwing a questioning look.

''Pull the bell, my butler will fetch you a relief.'' He instructed. ''Then, do you mind telling me what the Hell you are doing in my house? May you also be reminded that I can have you removed in three very fast seconds, your reputation in the squalors and thrust about town so that you will never have a prayer of been looked at again by anyone other than a bohemian whore.''

Will pulled upon the call bell located next to the bed. He was thoroughly surprised by the nasty streak of Nathan. The frail man held the strength of his own voice. The man still had a fight within him and that ignited a fire within his own belly. This would be a very lengthy and perhaps amusing conversation; it surprised him very much.

''Your son killed my father.'' Will pulled the bell harder to alert the butler to call quickly. Nathan's dry and cracked lips parted. If he wasn't pale before he was now. ''I could say that I have come for my revenge. You are his father and I am my father's son. Call it a trade of some sort.''

Before either man could speak again, a knock at the door sounded, breaking the moments silence.

''Aye.'' Nathan called out, weakly. A tall, young butler entered carrying a fresh bottle of whisky.

''I will take that.'' Will nodded, stealing it from the boy's hands before another word could be said. The bottles top popped off and immediately, he brought it to his lips to sample the liquor. As he wiped his mouth, he noted the butler taking in the length of him. Possibly wondering how he had gotten into the house. The whiskey was good, odd in taste, due to its age, but it was much needed at the moment. One wouldn't complain at the taste in moments like this.

''You may go.'' Nathan ordered. The butler hesitated, nodding only once, before he had glanced over Will a final time, as though raking his own mind for recognition.

''So, you have come for revenge?'' Nathan settled himself back against the multiple pillows which held his body upright.

''I should say yes, but you are to die anyway.'' Will took longer sips allowing the whiskey to burn his stomach and numb the thoughts. What use was a man who possibly had hours left in him? Not much. He laughed, pitifully before swigging more of the liquor. He shouldn't be drinking, he knew that, but he wouldn't be able to stop himself now. Not tonight. The cracks in his steely exterior were already showing and he had lost the will to repair them.

''I knew your father.'' Nathan started, his voice low, cracking, ''he was an exceedingly talented man, with a passion for the arts, hunting and the occasional brawl in his youth. They say fatherhood settles a man and it seemed to settle him.''

''Is that so?'' He exhaled.

''I say so. A son is the image of oneself at a younger time. I noted the two of you as you went about town, boy.''

''A beautiful observation.'' Will said, dryly. ''Such a shame one's father is no longer about to truly appreciate his son. Yet, here you are, alive albeit unwell, but still able to watch your son with such pride. Is that the way of it?''

Nathan pulled himself upright. ''Do not make me angry, boy. I have no energy for it. I know what my son is but I never knew he was fully capable of taking a life. I hear stories, the whispers and I thought it was nonsensical.''

''Then, why do you believe my tale?'' Will wanted to know. How could be believed so easily.

''Because I know what it is like to be left with a wound after a father's death. I nurse my own to this day. His life was taken right before my eyes by his own brother, driven by jealousy over the love of the same woman.''

If Will was taken aback by the confession, he didn't show it. Inside, he simply settled himself back into the first chair which he found, the whisky slipping down his throat quicker than necessary.

''So, you know my anger of your own son?''

''Yes, of course I damned well do.'' Nathan shakily reached out for his own whisky. He grunted, the pain in his body causing him to feel weaker, dizzier and drowsy but he must stay awake for this. He had to. He cradled the bottle in his lap. ''He was to marry, to settle. I wanted to see that much at least. If the wife conceived whilst I was still around then I would have died happy knowing that there was a small chance that fatherhood would change my son. That he was look upon the innocence and know right there and then what choice he should make.''

Will scoffed. ''So, you sent him to Rose DeWitt?''

''No, that decision he made on his own. The daft apath was hell bent on bedding her, to do the things which you should only do in the damned whorehouse but I knew she was not the one for him. He paid his addresses. He was rejected. I suspected his embarrassment and so he went off in a turmoil of anger.'' Nathan had no note of any sorts. Only word from Hugh Harrington of what Caledon had done. That titbit he kept to himself for the moment. The man needed a pretty woman, one with a calm nature and one who would turn a cheek to his son's wondering eye. To the outside world, the marriage must be believable. As long as the woman was capable of bearing a child or two then that would be all that was needed. A woman should be a mother; that would occupy most of her time.

''You suspect he will return?''

Of course, he would return. The man always did. But as a coward would, he lurked aside with other people's eyes and ears out for him. He wasn't a fool, yet, he was the daftest man there ever was. Will had no doubt of the plan which Caledon had hatched and right now, he suspected the butler would be sending the fastest rider to Caledon's location with word that Will was conversing with his gravely ill father. That Will was in his home. He smirked at his own thoughts.

''Yes, when I am gone. He will have the house, the money...more of it. This will all be his and it is beyond my own control.'' Nathan sipped more of his whisky, moving to dispel the pain in his abdomen. ''I won't last the week. I can feel it.''

''Do you truly believe that your son is not deserving of this life. This home. The coin which you earnt honestly before you decided to steal from the less than deserving.''

''No!'' Nathan rasped. ''What a fool are you. Do you truly believe that it was I who started the deed? My son played dirty first, dipping his fingers where a mans shouldn't go. I had to conceal the conceit and then continue what he started just to keep our heads above the water.'' He softened. ''I had my family to keep afloat.''

Nathan slumped back against his pillows. The argument had sucked the last energy out of him. He coughed, heavily, spitting the disease from his lungs. Will steepled his fingers together.

''I feel your son would never treat a child with the fragile love that it requires. I highly doubt he could even take a wife well. I would stop any marriage which he tried to enter into to just save a poor, innocent girl from the monstrosity which is your offspring.''

Nathan should have winced but he knew it was the truth. The truth of his only son and the destiny which awaited him. One which he was powerless to stop. His own fear and stupid pride had prevented him from stopping any of his sons' deeds before he had grown ill, but now, he was literally unable to do anything aside from sit and watch Caledon destroy what was left of the family. He was utterly useless and unable to offer anything but words.

''If I was years younger then, so would I. But I can only ask for your forgiveness.''

''In what regard?''

''That a man so evil was created, by me, no less. I loved his mother. We were not matched for that reason but I grew to want her in my life.''

''That is a blessing.'' One which clearly had impacted the young Nathan Hockley once upon a time. This dying man had once been a spring chicken...handsome. He had come from a family of strong stock, ones who had the Hockley blood running through their veins. He had taken interests, participated in sports. He had married a wonderful woman who he had grown fond of within the first year of their marriage.

''She was.'' Nathan smiled through his ailing vision. He removed the lid from his whisky with a small pop before bringing it to his cracked lips. It burned his frail body. Ignorance of his faltering body ate at him. Without a mirror, he felt thirty-five. Time was cruel to everyone who lived. From the moment one is born they are dying...each second ticking by closer to their deaths. What does one leave behind? Money...land...children...love? The question was, what did one fear most of leaving behind?

'My son.'' Nathan muttered, as he answered his own question.

Will frowned. ''Pardon me?''

''I am afraid to leave him. Not for fear of anything other than the pain which he may inflict upon others.''

Will placed his whiskey upon an end table without placing the lid back atop. He thrust his hands into his pockets into the stance of a commoner with a slouch of his shoulders to match.

''Then, pray, tell me what I can do to eradicate that happening in the future? Entrust me with the burden.''

Perhaps, there was some way which they could help the other out in these times of need. Perhaps, a truth could be revealed which could help Will to deal with the nature of Lord Hockley.

Nathan glanced at William Sedgewick from head to toe. His face was like his fathers, even with failing vision he saw that much. Could he trust a man he had met today? When he was gone, there was nothing else which he could do, so, he had to entrust another and, in this moment, he was feeling his faith grow stronger.

''First, there is my will.''

Will blinked several times.

''What?''

''Change my will.'' Nathan urged. ''He must not see a penny of this. I have a nephew, one who I would make benefactor it wasn't for the fact that I fear he could be involved somehow with my son.''

Will moved to the window, his hand gripping onto it for support. This was not the plan of action which he had intended, but for purpose of curiosity, he listened.

''For certain?''

''Yes, damnit. Action must be taken against him, while I am still breathing and my heart is still beating, my son will not come here. After I am gone, he will return to lavish the sympathies, to play the grieving son and to tend to the coin which will finally be his.''

Will drummed his fingers upon the window pane. The plan was more than he could have ever asked for and yet, his heart was soaring with such adrenaline and he kept his posture.

''What do you propose to do?''

''You take it.'' Nathan flailed his hand about, thrusting it into the air as a sign of his carelessness. ''Do with it what you will. It is useless to me now. My funeral is paid and arranged.''

Will's eyes widened. ''What? You are giving me your fortune?''

''I am wanting to leave this earth free of my sins.'' He coughed, brutally. The sound echoing the otherwise eerie silent room. As he continued to cough, he felt the life slowly leaving him. His energy was leaving him. His spirit was rattling about to be released. He needed eternal rest. It had to come soon. ''I cannot take my money when I leave this bed in a wooden box, so take it somewhere it will be needed.''

''What are you saying?'' Will came to sit on the bed. It was frightfully unaccustomed for a man, unless of close familiarity to do such a thing, if even in those circumstances.

''Call the bell. Now.''

Will jumped to his feet a second later, as though he was a scolded child. He pulled the cord which sounded the bell and alerted the butler for assistance.

''Whatever for?''

Nathan coughed again, violently as he pressed a used handkerchief to his mouth, he spewed out the disease as best as he could. Will watched with such a fright that he daren't even move.

''Assume my lawyer here within the hour, for I fear that I won't even last the night.''


	16. Chapter 16

**Thank you all for the messages and reviews!**

 **I am really coming to the climax of this story now and yet, as I write the ending, I struggle to end it :( each chapter to write takes such a while and honestly consumes so much energy!**

 **I know what to do, how to end it, I just find I don't have the heart to just yet. I feel like the chapters which proceed this get worse and worse. It was about a year ago that I started writing this and its unreal that I am still here telling the story!**

Chapter sixteen,

''I had hoped you would attend the Davison's ball with me last night.'' Ruth spoke quietly, around the hired staff. Trudy diverted her eyes before scurrying away from the breakfast table to tend to something elsewhere whilst the conversation took place in the dining room.

Rose had arrived home that morning, well before her mother would have risen. She had snuck back through the servant's quarters, where she had quickly taken an arranged bath and a strong cup of coffee within her room. The walls around her seemed to have closed in, slowly suffocating her as soon as she had stepped foot inside her own quarters. Sleep wouldn't come to her, for she felt as though she was a different woman. Damn, she was a different woman. She was a **woman.** Jack had taken her multiple times in his bed, and other, locations. The house felt different, like a cage to her now, more than ever. She craved Jack's open space of a manse, even without the proper furnishings, it was still better to be there than here.

Not yet an hour after finishing her morning beverage, her mother had called upon her to attend breakfast. Rouge and a base had done very little to hide the puffiness of her eyes but, as Rose settled herself at the table, she had winced at the painful reminder below, of the night which she had spent with Jack. Together, they had ripped the counterpane from his bed, stained and red, it was a reminder of her lost virginity to a man she was deeply in love with.

''I was tired, mama. After the events of yesterday, I struggled to quite sleep.''

Ruth nodded. ''I see.''

Silence fell between them almost as though they were strangers and not mother and daughter. The bread on her plate was dry, she had no energy to litter it with any jams or honeys and so, she simply pushed it away. Ruth watched, her eyes sharply seeing her daughter's lack of appetite.

''You are in shock still? Perhaps I should alert a physician.''

''No, mama,'' she shook her head immediately. ''I am quite well. A nap will suffice.''

Ruth placed her teacup back upon the table. The events of yesterday had unravelled very fast indeed. After Lord Hockley had paid his addresses, he had intended to surprise his new fiancée with a visit, although Rose had reacted in a way Ruth had never imagined, Caledon was displeased. Trudy had alerted Ben to remove him from the household quickly, for putting his hands upon Miss Rose, but no one knew just how much of that tale was true. Servants were known for gossips, creating fairy-tale to ensure their own lives were less boring and so a scolding had been given to all. Ruth had reached out to Lord Hockley to be told he was currently indisposed as his father was gravely ill and so instead, she had sent well wishes to them both. The entire situation was up in the air and Ruth was trying to keep the peace as well as she possibly could do.

''If you are this peaky come supper time, then I am to send for the doctor and there will be no further discussions about it.'' Ruth noted the darkened circles below her daughters' eyes and the pitiful attempt to disguise the lack of sleep covered by a too-dark rouge. It was all too well that any company wasn't to be expected that day with the sight of her daughter. It was almost a blessing that Lord Hockley had left the town for the time being.

''Very well.'' Rose didn't press it further, for she knew that it was true. A nap was truly all she needed. The physical exertions were new to her. A smile threatened to play upon her lips as raunchy memories circled her mind but she pushed them away immediately. Jack had left her that morning, in a private carriage, watching as she had left him there. A piece of her heart had stayed behind with him, in a home which wasn't hers. A promise of marriage had been thrust upon her once more and with a single kiss, she had vowed to give him word by that evening what her choice was. There was no doubt what the answer would be. She would marry him and not just because she had given herself to him, but because she loved him.

''I sent word to the Hockley's this morning. Caledon's father is suspected to be gravely ill and therefore, he is unable to be contacted. I extended my apologies for the handling of the situation yesterday.'' Ruth told Rose quietly, addressing the elephant in the room at that moment.

Calmly, Rose placed her hands within her lap. The hues of pink within her dress, with stitched roses and lilies were a distraction from the rising anxiety which threatened to wreck her body. She kept her breathing at a steady pace, knowing that rising above it would be the better option.

''What situation would that be?''

''Oh, Rose, do not play the innocent.'' Ruth shook her head. ''Lord Hockley would not put his hands on a woman, not a woman of your breeding.''

''Would he not? Perhaps, the two other witnesses were mistaken?'' Rose raised her voice above its usual tone, but still, it was calm enough.

''They were dealt with in a manner of which liars should be treat.''

''Oh?'' Rose raised her chin. ''I see.''

Ruth was pleased with her daughter's good nature regarding the matter. That morning had been unusually stressful especially for the tension amongst the hired staff but, that should pass shortly, if any of them intended to keep their jobs then they would obey the orders which had been given. Mentally, she was about to commend her daughter when Rose spoke up.

''I will not marry Caledon Hockley, nor will I ever allow him to be near me again.''

After hearing her mother's brain digest that information, she found the inner strength. The fear which had once flitted in the pit of her stomach was gone. When she watched her mother's lips part in such shock, she raised her chin, saying the words which she had wanted to speak aloud for what felt like an eternity. ''I am to marry Jack Dawson.''

Ruth leaned forward, her mouth still agape.

'Have you gone mad?''

''Perhaps so.''

''You will do no such thing. He hasn't even paid his addresses and nor would I accept them.'' The fury in Ruth's eyes flared. There had been no discussion, following the introduction of Rose to Society, of Jack Dawson. They had danced together once and afterward Ruth had been informed of his blood line and lack of prominence. What did he have to offer her?

''He has to me, and I have accepted them fully.''

Ruth placed her hands to her chest, clasping them together as though she tried to make some sense of these turns of events. Rose had to have gone mad, there was no other explanation for it. Why else would she accept the offer without so much as discussing it with her own mother.

''Good Lord, you haven't?''

''Yes. My word is final.''

Ruth shook her head. ''You stupid fool. You are promised to Lord Hockley.''

''No, mama. I never was. For he is very little more than a murderer, a thief, a complete criminal if there ever was one to walk this earth. He is responsible for much more than you will ever know. He placed his hands upon me once, and he will never do so again for if he does, I will chop off his fingers one by one.''

''Rose!'' Ruth choked back a sob. Her daughters vile demeanour was frightening. She pulled back from the table quickly and as she got to her feet, she clasped her hand across her mouth.

''I have been afraid for so long.'' Rose softened, sensing how upset her mother was. ''I truly believed that my father's debt would hold us forever in societies shadow. I feared that we would never truly be accepted but now, I find that I care not.''

''So, you wish to live on the streets like some animal?'' Ruth despaired.

''If I was happy, then yes.''

''Jack Dawson is not a man of fine social standing. His mother is a wh-'' Ruth stopped the words tumbling out of her mouth and clamped her mouth shut. Her anger had almost caused her to speak in a manner to her daughter which she would never dare.

''Is a what? Dare you not say what you think? For it is not the truth at all. Jack Dawson is the son of the late Lord Sedgewick. Remember him, mama? The one who was killed years ago and then the gossips faded away with the winds. His son William took over the residence and then fell from grace. He, too, had debts. Jack is his half-brother, he paid the creditors which Will left in his wake just as he did to clear away the mess daddy left. For me.''

Ruth turned on her heel to look at Rose.''Caledon was the one who paid that-''

''No, mama.'' Rose raised both of her hands to stop her mother from talking. ''You have always called me naïve and yet, you refuse to believe the truth when it so plainly stares at you in the face.''

Ruth was now faced with these allegations. These things which could be the truth. The situation was far more serious than initially one could have ever thought. She felt as though the weight of the world was coming atop her just as it had done the day her husband's debtors had eaten away at her. She stumbled back to her chair in the most unladylike manner which Rose had ever been witness to. The world was tumbling down on her once more and she couldn't see in a straight line at all.

''And, you believe the man who has promised you what? Love?''

''No, mama, he promised me nothing. He has my heart and I have his.''

''You will be shunned from society. Doors will be slammed in your faces. You cannot live in London.'' Ruth warned, her voice as sharp as a blade.

''Well, so be it. Perhaps, a country life would suit me. I should like a houseful of children and a quantity of cattle, horses, sheep. Idyllic.''

''Idiotic.'' Ruth scoffed. ''Ludicrous. You shall be left with a dozen mouths to feed, very little figure left and no money. He will take what he wants and then leave you with nothing. Mark my words.''

''No, perhaps you should listen to me, just for once.'' Rose warned as she exhaled. ''I love you, mama. I understand the reasons why when we started this season you were auctioning my hand to the highest bidder. The money which Jack paid for my father's debts is something which I had no hand in. He refuses to accept anything in return and I shall forever feel a failure in his eyes for that. But he had assured me that it means nothing and I accept that.''

Ruth pitifully laughed.

''How mighty of him.''

Their talks were interrupted by a swift knock at the door. Ruth stiffened and straightened. Picking up the cup containing her now tepid tea as though to project a lively breakfast with her daughter was taking place.

''Yes?'' She called, inviting the caller in, as breezily as she could stomach.

The door creaked open and paused on the threshold stood Jack. His hair was neatened, his attire beautifully matched to his eyes and a hat was stuffed beneath his arm. His eyes swept across Rose immediately and despite the breath been stole from her lungs, she managed a small smile. It seemed to have taken all of her might to remain seated at that moment and not run to him.

''I would have followed correct protocol but I find that your staff were no longer willing to follow it.'' He smiled, entering the dining room. ''Forgive me for intruding during breakfast, Lady Dewitt, Miss. Rose.''

''We are finished.'' Rose told him, quickly. Their eyes meeting in a knowing look. What had transpired between them the evening before had quickly come back to them both. Just to be in the same room was stiflingly intense for the other, especially with the need to restrain themselves.

''I would have stalled a little longer, but I believe I had heard quite enough.''

''You were eavesdropping?'' Ruth was appalled. She placed her teacup back upon the table and felt her headache worsen.

''Again, forgive me, Lady DeWitt. One should perhaps invest in thicker wood for the door, or perhaps a lower, less shrill tone of the voice when discussing such intimate matters.''

Ruth couldn't scold. She hadn't the will. Her face fell into her hands. She was exhausted and far beyond been able to comprehend the events of the morning. ''Lord, help me.'' She prayed through her frustrations.

''Lady DeWitt, it is you whom I have come to address.''

''If you want my blessing then don't hold your breath.''

Jack stepped forward. He placed his steady hand at the back of Rose's dining chair. His finger tenderly tickled the nape of her neck and she held in a gasp. Never had she been touched like that in a formal setting. He set his hat upon the table before Rose and ignored all formalisation of never placing attire upon a meal table. All rules seemed to be broken with just that one action.

Jack knew of Ruth's stubborn nature, but he continued on anyway. ''I might not have your blessing, my lady. I may not have pure enough blood for your taste, but I will love your daughter with all of my heart. She will never want for nothing. I will give her everything which she will ever need whether that requires coin or not, for I have both.''

Slowly, Ruth removed her trembling hands from her face. Jack addressed her directly. His stance was tall and proud. He was not a man to be regarded in a foolish manner, she knew that much. He was handsome, his eyes soft and pleading. She raised her chin, feeling the tension there in her neck. She recognised that doe eye looks of her daughter, it was the look of most young girls as they watched the men, they believed to fall in love with them.

''I wasn't raised in a convent, Mr. Dawson. I know what notion of fairy tales handsome men give to the ladies of society. I know how it ends.''

''Is that so?'' Jack's lopsided grin infuriated Ruth. It was as though he held a secret to which she would never know. He was amused by her observations.

''Did you know that Samantha Rowland is carrying the child of Lord Hockley?'' Rose couldn't stop the words from falling out of her mouth before they did. ''Well, did you mother?''

''What absolute-''

Rose placed her hand in the air for her Mother to cease speaking.

''It is true, for we over heard them speaking of it. Both Samantha and Lord Hockley admitted so themselves.'' Rose felt Jack's steely hand upon her right shoulder and it gave her the strength that she was faltering. ''So, do not tell me of what you know, mama, when the truth is you know very little.''

Ruth was silent. Her eyes wide with unexpected surprise. Glancing between both her daughter and the man beside her, she felt the anger which was once raging with her stomach diminish little by little when instead it should have raged beyond meaning.

''I have never been spoken to by anyone the way you have spoken to me today.''

''Well, it is the only way of which one will listen to their daughter.'' Rose offered in return.

Jack remained quiet. His hand didn't move from Rose's shoulder. His offer of strength was there for her to draw from. He knew he would never have full acceptance of his love for Rose, but coming to some civil agreement would help all parties immensely.

''What do you believe Mr. Hockley is capable of, Rose?''

''Murder.'' The words slipped from her mouth before she could stop them. Her hand came to her face, she turned to Jack, silently pleading for forgiveness but he shook his head to dismiss it, instead he took her right hand in his left and gently squeezed the worry away.

''Of whom?''

''My father.'' Jack told her, quietly. It was time that people knew the truth. ''Caledon killed my father. I suspect other foul play but it is indeed a crime for which he will pay for greatly. There are other witnesses who can also confirm this, my brother Lord Sedgewick included.'' Jack watched as some sort of realisation settled in. ''You see, I have denied my pater for long whiles. There has been suspicions but when one never fully confirms or denies their existence then they are continued to be invited to parties, galas, balls and dinners just so the prying eyes can catch their gossips. I have been aware of this for many years, my lady.'' He smiled. ''I have known of your situation for a year or so. Word travels. I worked in your stables with my uncle and I know the servants who gossip like the next day will never come. I truly never intended to set eyes upon your daughter, my lady, but when I did my heart stopped truly for a long second.''

Ruth blinked several times. The words of which he spoke were surreal and yet, seemed to be so real. She was silent, sensing there was more to come and patiently waited for his continuing converse.

''I tried to stay away from her, due to my involvement with Hockley, but once my attention was brought to the fact that he was to court her, I had to make sure that was all right. It just happens, that in the process of it all, I fell deeply in love with her myself.''

The sincerity in his voice in contrast to the broad-shouldered man who spoke the words was startling. Ruth wet her lips and considered taking a sip of her cold tea but she knew better of it. His stance was straight backed, his composition calm. His person was steady and unnerving. He held no evidence of been a man other than who he stated indeed who he was. The thought of this entire charade possibly been true had crossed Ruth's mind more than once already. The whole situation was one which was unbelievable. What man, of Dawson's handsomeness would want her daughter for anything other than his own pleasures?

Rose felt him squeeze her hand tighter and in return she felt the butterflies take flight within her stomach. He stood beside her, with her, tall and proud of his feelings and his past. That was something worth commending.

''Your daughter has brought me such joy, that I haven't known ever existed. Even before I lost my mother and my father's murder.''

Ruth snatched her breath for a moment, pausing as she examined his face. The sincerity frightened her. The pains in her head were tormenting her endlessly pulling at her brain as she tried to process titbits of the conversation. It was hard to hear any of it. Her pride had suffered already and now, as a woman exposed to a near stranger, she felt fragile as well.

''I am truly sorry for the loss of both your parents so young.'' She nodded, that much was true. One should never be alone in the world. Regardless of their station.

''I appreciate that.''

Ruth studied them both for a moment, before taking stance on her rocky legs. She gripped at the large dining table for support and fluffed out her skirts. This day was almost too much to take in and breakfast was barely even over with.

''Mother?'' Rose stood with her, as society called for it. Suddenly, her mother was pale, perhaps tired and she nursed her head frequently.

''I need to nap.'' She told Rose quickly, glancing between the two of them. ''I suggest the same for you, Rose. You look beyond exhausted and this morning has been too much to even consider.''

''Yes.'' She nodded in agreement. It was true.

''Mr. Dawson, my staff will see you out, forgive me, I must leave.''

''Of course.'' Jack bowed as she passed. ''My lady.''

Ruth paused on the threshold of the door, clutching her hands tightly to her chest.

''It is the Collin's ball this evening, I expect you to be there. While you still live under my roof, you are to accompany me. Your absence last night caused a stir already.''

Rose nodded. ''Yes, mother.'' She couldn't deny her that.

With a click of the door, she was gone.

At any given moment, Ben would be along to see Jack out, the servants would come to clear away the table and her life would resume as normal for the time being. Her hand in Jack's felt wonderful. Slowly, he bent forward to kiss her forehead. As his lips came to her temple, she closed her eyes and allowed herself to inhale the scent of been so close to him once more. He intoxicated her in many ways.

''I missed you.'' He whispered, so quietly his voice was barely audible even to her. ''Yet, you have been out of my bed a mere few hours.''

She flushed at his words, but her stomach clenched. ''I missed you, too.''

He kissed her forehead once more, his closeness intoxicating her. She scrambled to think of something beyond his touch.

''What made you come here, today?''

Jack pulled back from her, slowly. ''To inform your mother of my intentions towards you. That they are honourable.''

''Are they?'' She raised her eyebrow as a soft natural flush came across her cheeks.

''Mostly.'' A smile played at his lips. ''I wanted to reveal my truths and for her to make her own decision but regardless of her thoughts, I wanted her to know that I have made my promise to you and I will not fail you in any way.''

As she opened her mouth to speak, a knock at the door sounded before Ben slowly it open. ''Make your egresses, Mr. Dawson.''

''Of course.'' He nodded to Rose, before bowing slowly. ''Until I see you again. Perhaps this evening, at the ball.'' He winked, quickly at her.

And just like that, the world was cold once more.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter seventeen,

The Collin's ballroom was neither overly large nor overly filled. There was a respectable showing of guests, but it wasn't yet a crush. Why, then, couldn't Jack locate her glorious red hair?

''Are you one of those gentlemen who have an unusually strong interest in red hair?''

He hadn't been. He had considered all women equally endowed. Now, here he was, completely oblivious to every other hue but that novel fiery one. His brother's teasing fell against deaf ears. He grabbed his arms.

"Walk this way," Will urged, attempting to tug him along. "Someone is approaching whom I'd rather not speak to." With a rueful smile, Jack followed. They rounded the perimeter at a torturously slow pace due to the number of attendees who wished to greet the Lord Sedgewick. Jack was about to leave the Lord behind when he finally spotted her. His step faltered. Will bumped into him. "Damnation, Dawson, what the devil are you—" The Lord fell silent. Jack gave a low, appreciative whistle. Uncouth, to be sure, and an undeniable betrayal of his commonness, but it was sincere. He could find no words.

''Why," Will said in a contemplative tone, "I have clearly been remiss in not paying proper attention to Miss. Dewitt."

Rose stood amid a circle of acquaintances, most of whom were gentlemen. Her glorious hair had been arranged in abundant curls that framed her face and caressed her nape. Her body was clad in sapphire satin, the bold colour incongruous amid the paler hues worn by the other women in attendance. There would have been no way to miss her, had she not been shorter than the crowd of salivating males around her. What in God's name was she wearing? Unable to help himself, Jack stared with clenched fists. Riveted. The deep colour of her gown showcased the creamy hue of her skin and the richness of her tresses to supreme advantage. The cut of the garment was painfully simple, with minimal detail. The gown's true beauty lay in how it clung to its wearer. How the low bodice hugged her figure and bared more than a glimpse of cleavage. How the long skirts emphasized the length of her legs. The short-puffed sleeves failed to meet the uppermost end of Rose's long white gloves, revealing a sprinkling of freckles on her upper arms that he found enchanting. He was struck with fierce longing, like a man gone too long without a meal who doesn't realise he's starving until presented with the sight and smell of food. An amused masculine voice intruded.

"Glad to see I'm not the only man to lose all sense of social grace." Jack tore his gaze away from Rose to see who spoke to him.

"Baron Highgate," Will said. "Good to see you again."

As the earl made the appropriate introductions, Jack studied Baron Highgate with his usual thoroughness. The baron was a head shorter than both himself and Will, and far slenderer. Although Highgate's hairline was receding with regretful swiftness, Jack guessed he was younger than he appeared.

"Surprised to see you, Sedgewick," Highgate said after greeting Jack. "Did word of Miss. Dewitt's transformation spread so quickly?"

"Actually," Will drawled, "I simply dropped all of this evening's invitations into a hat and withdrew a few. The 'transformation,' as you call it, is an unexpected boon."

"Mr. Tomlinson is of the mind that Miss. DeWitt finally seeks to throw off the mantle of spinsterhood," Highgate relayed.

''The girl is hardly a spinster at eighteen.''

''Hmm, but is supposedly refusing all hands offered.''

"Perhaps," Jack suggested, feeling proprietary, "she's taken a fancy to someone and hopes to encourage him."

"You don't say?" Highgate's eyes were wide. "Care to guess who it is?"

"I am at a disadvantage, I'm afraid. I have yet to become acquainted with every moth circling her flame."

"Moth to flame, eh? Poetic and apt. Well, I shall take it upon myself to discover his identity."

Sedgewick clapped Highgate on the shoulder.

"You will, of course, be sporting and share your findings."

Highgate's chest puffed up. "Certainly.''

Jack gave in to his impatience. With a slight bow, he sidestepped away. "If you will excuse me, my lords."

"Not so fast, Dawson," Sedgewick said quickly. "I shall accompany you in your journey to pay court to the lovely Miss. Dewitt. Excuse us, Highgate. Do keep us apprised of your discoveries.''

The tension in Jack's shoulders increased. Bringing Rose to Will's attention—and the reverse—was not something he should view as threatening, but the feeling was there. She caught sight of him when he was several feet away. Courtesy of her décolletage, he saw her breath catch and a gentle flush spread across her luminous skin. She stared, unblinking, and masculine triumph surged through him. She was clearly smitten by the sight of him, yet he had not provoked that response from her with any effort on his part. He drew to a halt on the fringes of her circle. A pathway was made for him with obvious reluctance.

"Miss. Dewitt."

She lowered her gaze and curtsied.

"Good evening, Mr. Dawson." Jack obliged Will with the necessary introductions, then backed away.

For a while, he simply observed her in this new environment, smiling inwardly when she spoke so bluntly those around her momentarily lost their way in the conversation. As dramatic as her change of appearance was, she was still Rose. While others spoke with great animation about the tale of her mishap at the Royal Academy of Art exhibition, she frowned and bit her lower lip, clearly not reconciling the expanded tales with the actual reality. She looked at him often, seeming to take comfort in his proximity. He recalled his earlier thoughts about how at ease she made him feel in situations where he was feeling his way blind. They were not so different. More than anything, he was drawn to the affinity they shared in unexpected and deeply seated ways. In order to see him schooled properly, Jack's mother had paid for his education with her pride and her life. He'd protested the expense, knowing what it would cost her, but she would not be swayed. In the end, he conceded only because he intended to support her, not her to support him for the duration of her life.

A violin played a few opening notes, signalling an end to the orchestra's short break. Guests began to line up along the centre of the parquet floor. Rose shot him a long, meaningful glance and he knew she was going to be dancing within the arms of another. She took to the floor with Sir Michael Thompson. Riveted by the elegant grace with which she glided across the room, Jack could not take his eyes from her. The sapphire gown's skirts were noticeably fuller than those worn by the other females in attendance; he thought the style suited her perfectly. There were more layers to her than most women. The musicians began the opening notes of a waltz. Rose stepped nearer to Thompson and clasped his hand. With an accomplished flourish, he began the requisite series of steps. Jack frowned, thinking.

Amongst the crowds, Lady DeWitt stood, waving her fan a flourish as she watched from afar as her daughter was swept across the floor by a handsome man almost twice her age. She sensed the approach from behind and as she turned, she found Jack Dawson bowing before her.

''My lady.''

She inclined her head, slightly. ''Mr. Dawson.''

''How lovely you are this evening.''

Her skirts were thinner than her daughters, purple in colour with streaks of black pearl. It covered her thin body, creating illusions of curves that she had never possessed.

''Thank you. And I may say how handsome you are, although I do believe that the fashions call for a gentleman to be wigged these days?''

Jack raised his eyebrow. ''And conform to the damned appearance of a courthouse judge. Never.''

She should have been appalled at his comment but she smiled. At a glance about the ballroom, she noted just how the ladies spoke beneath their fans. Their eyes fell on Jack, his broad shoulders and beautiful face. Ruth inhaled slowly, realising that the gossips were on her this evening, simply from standing with this mysterious man. Just what was the attraction to such a man, one who was not fully accepted amongst them.

''Would you like to dance, my lady?'' He held out a strong, sturdy hand to her. In the moment, as he smiled, revealing perfect white teeth, Lady DeWitt remembered how it felt to be a young woman. In her daughters' shoes, she knew that she would have danced with him as a young girl, just to be the envy of others about town even if his blood wasn't pure.

''I did think you were uncapable of leading a lady about the floor.''

''I am a great dancer. Although, I must ask that you lead.'' His smile sparkled with mischief. She looked at him aghast. ''Oh, I am jesting with you.''

She shook her head as she allowed him to lead her to the centre of the floor where others were mid-way through the current dance. ''Oh, your sense of humour is wicked, Mr. Dawson.''

''Yes? My mother used to tell me, so. I am pleased another other than she appreciates it. Although, I am thoroughly shocked that you, my lady, would tolerate such a thing.''

She placed her hand upon his shoulder, his hand firmly in hers and he swept her across the floor in a way she hadn't danced since she was a young girl. His grip was firm and yet gentle and she felt the way when she moved, she felt no notion of her feet moving. It was almost a glide.

''You are an exquisite dancer, Mr. Dawson.''

''Thank my mother for that.''

''Your mother seemed a very caring and able woman.''

''Yes, she was.''

Lady DeWitt sensed the sadness of the young man with her. He lacked a parent in his life, and she pondered how that would shape the future he planned to have with her daughter.

''How did she pass?''

''Bronchitis.'' He told her. ''It was long and painful. A simple condition to some, but when one cannot afford the medical then you must suffer.''

''I offer sincere condolences.''

''No need. She is at peace. Perhaps, with my father. She was loved in this life, isn't that all what matters?''

For the first time in her life, Lady Dewitt almost missed a step whilst dancing. The sheer honesty of Mr. Dawson had registered something in her own life. It was as though he had pressed a button which she was aware of but wasn't sure what it would do.

''Are you all right, my lady?''

''Yes.''

Jack whirled her again, masterfully fetching her back to him and again as they whirled, he sensed they were been watched by more than a few pairs of eyes. The Earl of Wellington watched from afar, dressing in black sans a wig. Jack's lips fell into a smile.

''I do believe that the Earl of Wellington has failed to remove his eyes from you for the entire duration of this dance.''

Lady Dewitt had felt his presence upon them as soon as he had stepped into the ballroom.

''Utter nonsense you speak of.''

''Perhaps, he has a tendre.''

''He is a married man.'' She fired back.

''Happily?''

Lady Dewitt clasped her mouth closed for fear of snapping further. Jack nodded his head, leaning into her.

''A sore spot, I see. I shall not speak of it again.''

Lady Dewitt averted gaze of the Earl's direction, instead focusing on Jack. ''He and I were almost wed before I met Rose's father.'' That is all she would say on the matter.

''I see. So, there was an intense attraction between you two? He still gazes upon you, like a moth to a flame, my lady. Word has it he isn't happily married. His wife takes to the younger men of our society, to her bed.'' Lady Dewitt's eyes widened to the point of almost soreness. Jack chuckled. ''But as I said. Not another word.''

''You are a dangerous man.'' Lady Dewitt observed his smile. In the crowd, her daughter was watching them dance together.

''Some might say that.'' Jack told her, honestly.

''Truly, you love my daughter?''

''No words, my lady, but yes, I treasure her.''

''When she was born and she was placed in my arms, I truly believed that I could never love anything as much as this child, but I did. I loved her more each passing day. She grew into her temper, her curiosity and I wanted to give her the world.''

Jack slowed their dance, sensing that this was the first time Ruth DeWitt had uttered such words aloud, perhaps even to her own daughter.

''Any good mother would.''

''But you don't see, I failed her. Her father failed her. He saw the insides of the gambling house more than his own home and for that he failed her, leaving behind very little.''

''Yes.''

''But I felt the need to see her off into marriage. This is barely her first Season but our situation was-''

''I know the severity of what your husband left. He was not a man by any standards. I would never do that to your daughter.''

''You helped us?''

''Yes.''

''But why did you not speak of this?''

Jack exhaled. ''That is no matter, my lady. Consider it nothing at all. All I needed was for her to be away from Hockley.''

The strings of the orchestra came to a halt. Jack slowed their pace to a stop. Together, they stood, as the crowd dispersed.

''Thank you for a wonderful dance, Mr. Dawson.''

He caught her elbow, as she walked beside him, just to steer away from prying ears.

''I would like to formally pay my addresses to you, for permission to marry Rose.''

''No need.'' Lady DeWitt paused before collecting her fan once more and opening it with a flourish.

''Pardon me?''

''What you have done for my family is extraordinary. I sincerely hope that Lord Hockley pays for his crimes and that my daughter brings you the happiness you deserve.'' She paused a moment. ''You will never fully be able to walk amongst us, never quite be Lord Sedgwick's son, your mother was a commoner and for that, you'll never quite be a member of London society. Your mother raised you well and I should have liked to have met her.''

Jack nodded, just once as an acknowledgment for he feared saying more should ruin the moment.

''You are welcome in my home, Mr. Dawson. My daughter should care for a ring; a sizable diamond and the offer of a proper home ready as soon as you are to enter into marriage. If you do manage to get my daughter up the aisle then I should like to see grandchildren on the cards shortly after. The banns will not put out until both of these are both to my daughter and my satisfaction.''

''I can do that. Children, perhaps we can discuss at a much later date.'' Jack beamed. ''So, I have your blessing?''

''Yes.''

Across the ballroom, Edwina came to stand beside Rose. Her canary yellow gown caught her attentions first.

''Good evening,'' Rose's eyes went to Edwina's swollen stomach, ''how glowing you are.''

''As are you.'' Edwina leant in close. ''How are you faring?''

''Very well. And you? Has the babe moved?''

''Yes, each day. Like a puppy is residing deep inside.''

Both women burst into laughter.

''How is Sam?''

Edwina's smile faltered, but not enough to notice unless one didn't know the truth. ''Oh, she is under the weather.''

''Oh? A shame.''

''Indeed.''

Edwina watched as Lady Dewitt and Jack Dawson parted ways after quite a dance. Rose watched after him, the same indecent way she had when first laying eyes on her husband.

''So, care to tell me why your complexion had altered in its entirety?''

Rose pressed her hand to her chest, veering Edwina away from prying ears with a steer of her elbow.

''Pardon me?''

''Do not be coy.'' Edwina lowered her voice. ''The men here tonight have noticed the change in you and it isn't just the fit of your gown. You have become a woman, have you not?''

Rose felt her breath stop in her throat. Was her lack of innocence projected so obvious and yet so oblivious to her?

''Do not be absurd.'' She cried and it was half true! Only herself and Jack would know what transpired between the two of them.

''I am not, you know so yourself. You carry yourself differently. Your confidence shines and you truly own the glow about you.''

Rose was about to answer when she was approached by Lord Harrington. Edwina turned away immediately before she was even introduced. Rose steeled herself for an exchange of words, trying to calm her raising heart.

''Good evening, my lord.'' She curtsied before him.

''It is, Miss. Rose. May I speak with you a moment?'' He offered his arm to her.

''Yes. Take me for a set?''

Lord Harrington paused for a moment.

''Actually, I would prefer to speak with you in private.''

Rose raised her chin. ''Well, my lord, you can speak with me here or not at all.''

Lord Harrington cleared his throat, glancing about after prying eyes to find they were alone with no person within earshot but still, he lowered his tone.

"I pray you'll forgive me, Miss DeWitt, but I am concerned for you."

"Concerned?" She furrowed her brow.

"I detest stepping into affairs that are removed from me," he said, sounding anything but reluctant. "However, I fear your laudable discrimination in selecting a spouse has become lax."

Her brows rose.

"Lax?"

"I speak of Mr. Dawson, of course."

"I see."

Although Lord Harrington was betrothed to Amelia, his interest in her had always been apparent but this was the first display of condescension she'd witnessed. She did not like his tone at all. It was one a parent or tutor would use with a recalcitrant child.

"There is something about Mr. Dawson that doesn't sit well with me. I cannot put my finger on it, but something is not right with him."

She turned her head and located Jack standing by a fluted column with crossed arms and hooded eyes. Not for the first time, she noted how he didn't look at her as he had on the day they'd met. His stare now was hotter, more aware, and it awakened an answering awareness in her. Warmth blossomed in the pit of her stomach and expanded. They had known each other only a few weeks but she was irrevocably changed by his acquaintance, newly cognisant of a baser sensibility previously veiled from her. As for Lord Harrington's assertions, although she didn't appreciate the manner of their delivery, she could not fault him for making them. Jack's attire was the only thing polished about him. Although he appeared innocuous on the surface, those with keen perception would recognise how incongruous he was among the crowd. There was a razor's edge of menace to him and a sleek grace to his movements that was inherently predaceous.

"I see no evidence of unsuitability," she lied. "In truth, I find him quite acceptable."

"Miss DeWitt, I must say, I am alarmed by your estimation. Who are his people?"

"His father was known my family." Rose lied, as she followed Lord Harrington's lead through an open door out onto the terrace. She knew that she should be chaperoned but knew no reason of any harm Lord Harrington could bring to her, even due to this close friendship with Hockley. The air was cool and lovely compared to the stuffiness of the ballroom.

''I suspect he is in want of funds, and you have them."

"That applies to many gentlemen of my acquaintance, wouldn't you agree? But I'm curious. What led you to the assumption that Mr. Dawson is a fortune hunter and more of a hazard than my other suitors? Certainly, his appearance refutes such a conclusion." Jack looked beyond reproach this evening. Dressed in a dark grey velvet coat and a pale blue waistcoat, he looked accomplished and elegant. The expert tailoring of the whole ensemble displayed the power of his body to advantage. She fully appreciated how strong and capable he was. She felt safe knowing he was nearby. The only person capable of harming her when Jack was near was Jack himself.

"Miss DeWitt." Lord Harrington looked pained. "I must advise you that it's most disconcerting to walk with a female who spends the duration of the converse inside admiring another gentleman."

"I am not admiring him, sir." At least, not verbally. "I am merely requesting that you expound upon the methods of deduction you used to reach your conclusion. You say he is in want of funds, I see no evidence of such. I should like to know what you see that I don't."

"A lady of your refined reasoning is at a disadvantage in this situation." His brown eyes were somber. "I shall explain. He's regarding you in an inappropriate fashion, Miss Dewitt."

"Are you saying," she asked carefully, "Mr. Dawson must be in want of money because he cannot take his eyes off me? I don't understand the logic. Isn't it possible Mr. Dawson might find something visually appealing about me? Perhaps my trim figure has garnered his admiration?"

"Your form is attractive," he conceded gruffly.

"Or my hair? Some men are excessively fascinated by certain hues, I'm told." A flush rose from beneath his cravat to colour his cheekbones.

"You have lovely hair."

"But my attractive form and lovely tresses are not enough to explain why Mr. Dawson regards me so intently? I suppose that's due to his exceedingly comely face and its ability to captivate anyone with unhindered vision. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I understand you to mean that my limited physical charms are no match for his. He can certainly find a far more beautiful female." Rose wrinkled her nose, as if in deep thought.

''No, you are very beautiful, stunningly so.''

"Well, then, perhaps it's my brain he finds so interesting."

"I agree you are extremely clever, Miss Dewitt," he said in a fervent rush, swiftly grasping at the change of topic. "It's why I like you so well, and why I'm certain we could enjoy each other's companionship for an indefinite period of time. However, Mr. Dawson obviously lends more attention to cultivating his exterior than his interior. One does not attain that physical size through intellectual exertions. I doubt he's capable of grasping the worth of your brain. In fact, in your position, I would wonder if it was even possible to have meaningful discourse with him."

Rose nodded.

"I understand now. Ruling out my mental and physical attributes would leave only my fortune as an enticement for handsome men. I'm quite enlightened, Lord Harrington." The waltz inside ended. She retreated the moment the last strains faded away. "Thank you. This discussion has been most informative. However, I seek clarification on one point: If attractive men find only my fortune alluring and you find my brain alluring, does that make you unattractive?"

Lord Harrington's mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again. Nothing came out.

''Fear not, I will not inform Amelia of this.''

After an abbreviated curtsy, Rose spun about and left the terrace. She intended to go to Jack, but he was no longer about.

He had watched Lord Harrington approach, they appeared to be engaging in some sort of heated discussion, perhaps of him, no less. His eyes had followed them out onto the terrace and then they had disappeared.

Stepping out into the cool night, there was not a soul about but still he sprang about like a puppy on heat as he darted in between the tree lined patioed area. He wanted to call her but thought better of it. Usually, they would sense each other's presence nearby. It took a moment to hear some form of struggle and the rustle of bush, he followed the sound quickly expecting to find an altercation but instead found Rose, laying still amongst the flower beds, a knife inserted into her shoulder.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter eighteen,

 _Her thoughts could only be consumed by him, and him alone. Even the pain, which had crippled her entire upper body, the ache of her legs, the nausea caused by the laudanum could expel her mind from the urge to see him, to be in his presence, his embrace._

 _The desperation coursed through her veins almost to the brink of utter madness. Her fingers spread across the counterpane, tapping at the heavy materials and that sound broke the silence._

 _The medication seems to ensure she consumed to slumber at some point during the afternoon, but she didn't rest. She constantly searched for his hand. Her breathing hitched as she heard that warm, wonderful voice soothe her ears. Her body reacted to reach out and she was steadied by a soft caress which didn't belong to her love. She whimpered. Her sweat beading across her cheeks and forehead from the struggle..._

 _She muttered his name, again and again...until it was silent once more and she was alone._

The stab was clean through. It had been inserted with such a force that Rose had been pinned to the ground. The turn of events was not yet pieced together, Jack had poured over each detail of the evening in his mind. Hugh Harrington had been the last one to see her, yet, when Jack had spoken to him; he insisted he had left her to go inside the ballroom. Witnesses had seen her indeed approach the ballroom, other pieces were still unfixed. Hockley was still out of town, according to all members of his household but still, other than that, no one seemed to know anything. It was as though the attack had never happened. Not a shred of evidence...

Jack hadn't left the DeWitt manse in the four days, leaving the room only to send for clothes and to bathe. His bedside vigil was constant. Swinging between anger, rage and utter disbelief had left him exhausted but still he only slept for an hour or two, before he was wide awake, afraid to leave her even just to succumb to his own dark and tortured dreams. The dreams in which he could almost see the face of the attacker, the person was right within his grasp but then, he would melt away into the darkness of the room. He would not be able to sleep the rest of the night, too consumed with anger. Adrenaline coursed through his veins and he found that he was unable to sit still and so he had taken to pacing her chambers like a locked-up lunatic.

Lady DeWitt had closed her doors to visitors that Thursday, insisting that, she too, must rest. Even she had known that the gossips would be ripe, therefore shutting Society out for now was the best for all. Jack had eaten a silent dinner with her the night before last, their eyes had met only briefly but it was enough to understand the sheer volume of worry which existed between them. They had pulled together, during a time in need, almost like a blending of two families. Since Ruth's acceptance of Jack, he sensed that she found his presence at the Dewitt manse somewhat comforting and brought a little security with him. Words weren't needed to express just how either felt, but as she left the dining table, her hand had placed atop his shoulder in an almost motherly manner and he had appreciated that small gesture more than he ever had thought he would.

Breathing deeply, Jack pulled the scent of Rose deep into his nostrils as he thumbed the lock to her bedroom. He was surprised to find himself hesitant to turn about and face her. The thought of Rose wounded did odd things to Jack's equanimity and each time he saw the sight of her dug a little deeper into the flesh of his own wounds.

"Be grateful I am too weary to give you your due, Mr. Dawson." He smiled at the breathy sound of her voice. It was weak, yes, but it challenged him just the same. She was awake. He resisted all his urges to run to her, avail himself of her mouth and crushed himself in her embrace. Turning, he found her lost in her large bed, her skin pale and her brows furrowed with pain. Dressed in a thin cotton night rail with lace at the throat and wrists, the she looked as innocent as a schoolgirl. His gut clenched.

"Rose," he breathed hoarsely, the betraying rasp forcing him to clear his throat. Shrugging out of his coat, he took a moment to collect himself.

''You take too long to see me,'' she whispered, watching him. ''Where have you been?''

He draped the garment over the back of a slipper chair and moved to her side, sitting on the edge of the bed. Her head turned to keep their gazes locked together. Her brow furrowed of why he chose to not sit closer.

''I was having a cigarette.'' He felt guilty for choosing that exact moment to go but she had been asleep for four days.

"You do not look well.'' She told him; her voice clouded with concern. ''Whatever has kept you awake?''

"You, of course."

"I think I look better than you." The corner of her mouth lifted.

"Nonsense." He smiled and caught up her tiny hand within his own. It pained him to see her so helpless. Her face was pale, her skin stripped of any powders and he then remembered just how truly beautiful she was. His fingers came up to her cheek, he traced along the lines of her dimples and then along her lash line when he found the tears clinging to her lashes, threatening to fall.

"Don't think of it.'' He urged her. Knowing just what the contents of her head were. ''I am here. Think about me."

Her eyes slid closed, revealing delicate lids darkened by tiny purple veins. She looked beyond exhausted and he could only wish that he could take away how she felt.

"I have done nothing else for a few days now. I have been emptied without you. I could hear you speaking and yet, I couldn't respond."

He was startled by the statement. He frowned down at her. She could hear him?

"You have been thinking of me, even in your slumber?"

Without thought, he lifted his hand and brushed loose tendrils of her unbound hair behind her ears. His fingertips returned to her cheek, caressing feather light over the satin-smooth skin. The tenderness he felt toward her pulled at him.

"Did I say that aloud?" she murmured, slightly slurred of speech. "How silly of me. Pay me no mind. It is the laudanum, I'm sure."

The withdrawal of her admission pulled him forward, urging him to lean closer. He paused with his lips a breath away from hers, the scent of her skin so strong it made him weaken, remembering the times when they had been in closer proximity.

"Do it," she breathed, goading him even in her vulnerable state. The way she pushed him made him smile, and his smile set off hers. Satisfaction flared that he could lift the weight of the pain which shrouded her.

''I am waiting for you," he murmured. There was a slight, tell-tale moment of hesitation. Then Rose's head moved slightly, closing the tiny distance between them until her lips pressed gently to his. The soft, innocent kiss arrested him, froze him in place, his heart lurching from its normal steady beat into a breakneck race. Unable to resist, he licked along the seam of her mouth, collecting the flavour of opium and brandy. She gasped, opening the sweet depths to his tentative thrust, her hand clutching at his.

''I am already the weakest I have ever felt in my entire life and then you go and weaken me further.'' She whispered against his soft lips. His lips moved against hers just once more, feather light. How could a man have such an effect on a woman?

''That wasn't my intention.''

''Then what was?''

''Damn you,'' he whispered, agitated by the entire complications which surrounded them. A frown marred her brow in a response to his gruff tone and he touched the line with the pad of his thumb, soothing it away. ''What happened, Rose?'' He asked her, with so much emotion in that breath. ''What has happened to you? Who did this?''

He needed the answers which had kept him awake. The thick white sheets of bandage covering her shoulder were a bleak reminder of the fact that he wasn't there to protect her. That was the worst part of it. That he was not there when he should have been. It is his duty to protect her and yet, he failed, miserably. He took a step or two back from her so that they were no longer touching. The air went suddenly cold. He presented his back as he went to the window, clutching at the heavy curtains to steady his temper. Racking his brains had done nothing but cause him even more pain. The frustrations were seeping up his throat, causing a lump to knot there. He covered his face with his hands, unveiling their shake. This wasn't Jack's usual sense of self; his person had only ever been calm around Rose, but now, he felt every ounce of emotion and feeling he had concealed over the years since his father's death just come at him, like a gunshot.

''I haven't shed a tear since the day my father died.'' He told her harshly, his voice hoarse. ''Not one. I have only felt the utter anger in my body and now-'' he turned to reveal reddened eyes, sparkling with unshed tears, ''now, I want to do nothing but. For you. For this utter danger which I put you in.''

She silently extended her right hand to him, the sight of such a man in a vulnerable state wounded her deeper than a knife ever cut. He was undone, naked and bare emotionally before her and she couldn't find him more beautiful.

''Jack-''

He fell to his knees beside her bed with a sickening crack and his face buried in her lap. Her fingers curled into his hair as his broad shoulders wracked with the sobs she never knew existed. He was heavy against her legs but that didn't matter. He wasn't supposed to cry, not for the reasons which he did.

A silent tear escaped her own eye, it trickled down her cheek before landing on the counterpane.

''Don't cry. Not for me.''

He grasped at her hands. ''I wasn't there to protect you.''

''No, this is not your fault.'' She told him, with as much steel in her voice as she could muster. It was true, to see him shed tears or place blame on himself was too much. He had protected her in every such way a woman would ever want, simply by loving her. Truly, that was the only thing which mattered to her.

Quickly, she recalled the events of that night. ''Lord Harrington left. I went back inside to look for you, but you were not in the ballroom and so I took the air outside alone and unchaperoned, just momentarily. It wasn't your fault, nor was it Hugh who did the deed.''

Jack raised his head from Rose's lap, his eyes vividly blue. Her breathing stalled at the most beautiful colour which she had ever seen. Never in her life had she seen a man cry, or so much as show an ounce of emotion as Jack had this moment. She pictured him as a young boy, unloved and without a father. Alone in the world. She reached her left hand out to caress his cheek, ignoring the agony in her shoulder.

''Then, Hockley?''

Rose shook her head just once. ''No. A tall man, slender with grey hair.''

He swallowed back his surprise. She had given him a lead, beyond her own knowing. ''For certain?''

''Yes, my love. Around forty, perhaps older.''

He clutched at her hand, urging her to continue. ''What words were exchanged?''

Rose pressed her lips together. ''Four of them.'' She felt another tear escape her eyes. ''Compliments of Lord Hockley.''

That was enough to give Jack the strength to stand. He took his hand from hers quickly, as though to be near to her burned. She gasped as his hands went through his hair, raking over and over.

''I knew it!'' He wanted to smash something. Throw something. Anything to release the anger which built up inside. ''I knew it was him!''

Rose's eyes widened as his sudden change in demeanour. ''Jack?''

He turned to her, seeing the fright within her eyes. Jack watched her carefully, his eyes had dried, momentarily at least. 'I am sorry, my love.'' He dropped to his knees once more. ''You will never know how I despise myself for leaving you.''

She reached out to him, ignoring the pain in her wound. She needed to be close to him. ''No, don't ever, ever say that. I willingly left the ballroom, with Lord Harrington.'' She wet her lips quickly, feeling how dry they were. She needed a drink to sort out of her parched mouth but that would wait.. ''He asked to speak with me about a private matter.''

Jack narrowed his eyes.

''Will you tell?''

''Yes, Jack. I have no secrets.''

He sensed her parchedness and he stood, quickly, moving to the bedside cabinet where a jug of water sat. He poured a portion into a small goblet before he offered it to her, silently. She smiled in gratitude and emptied the cup right away before offering it back so that he could pour another ration. His eyes urged her to continue.

''Lord Harrington appears to have issues with my choice of spouse.''

Jack raised his brows. ''Oh, but we haven't announced a thing yet?''

''I know, I believe he must have guessed one way or another.'' Rose took the goblet and sipped this time. ''I never denied or confirmed a betrothal, but Lord Harrington seemed to believe that you have interests only in financial gain and nothing else from our match.''

The ends of Jack's lips threatened a smirk as he came to the bed once more. Rose's hand was tiny and cool within his own.

'Is that so?'' He was far more than amused at the Lord's guesses.

''Yes, he was thorough of listing my qualities; attractiveness, cleverness, even my form.''

''Your form?''

''Yes, he told me that I had an attractive form...hair...'' she trailed off, trying to remember. ''He seemed to play them down, as though you must only be attracted to my fortune and nothing else.''

''You believe him, of course.''

It took a moment, under the influence of her drowsy medication, to realise that he was jesting. She smiled.

''Yes, I do.'' Her own lips curled into a smile, and he was simply happy to see her happy, even just for a brief second at their joke.

He squeezed her hand closely to his warm chest where she felt his heart beat. ''The mans to be married soon, I don't understand his motives to disapprove of your hand to me.''

''Perhaps, he was genuinely concerned, but as a friend of Lord Hockley's, I am very wary.''

''Hmm.'' Jack agreed.

Rose was silent as her lids grew heavier. Jack noted her weakness and he slowly moved beside her so that she was leaning against his chest. Her head fell limply against his shoulder and within moments she was asleep once more. Sleep is the best form of healing, he told himself, settling back against the cushions as he slipped his hand into her hair to caress her. She was warmer than before. He watched as her lips parted, taking deep but long breathes. She was peaceful, warm and safe. For the moment, that was all that mattered to him.

It was just over an hour later, when William Sedgewick was shown to the into the study of the DeWitt manse after receiving word to come with haste. Inside, he forced himself to sit rather than pace in agitation. When the door opened behind him, he stood and turned with a charming smile for perhaps Lady DeWitt but he scowled when he was faced with his brother.

"Dawson," came the terse greeting.

"Sedgewick."

"What do you want? Why are you here and not home, I called several times over the last few days and I heard nothing?" William blinked and then released a frustrated breath. Two steps forward and one back.

"The same thing as you, it does appear.'' Jack exhaled, as he familiarised himself with Rose's study. It was prettier than most, with tassels upon the cushions and her scent covered the entire room. It was another painful reminder. ''And I am here for I refuse to leave. She needs me.''

''How fares your love?''

''She is awake and weak.'' Jack indicated for his brother to sit. Will sensed that he would be in discussions longer than he cared to be. He exhaled in annoyance before shrugging out of his woollen coat and discarding of it at the back of a beige and golden wingback. He furrowed his brow at the girlish tones before seating himself. As he met Jack's gaze, he smirked.

''You look ghastly, brother. Do they not allow you to sleep abed?''

''I chose not to.'' He dismissed the comment quickly. ''I may have a lead.''

Will settled himself back in the chair. ''Oh, do go on?''

''Rose spoke to me this morning. It was not Harrington as initially believed.''

''A pity. I dislike the man as it is.'' Will glanced about the room, realising that there was no relief cabinet, he grunted in frustration. What sort of meeting was this?

Jack noticed, standing from the wingback and pulled upon the call bell to alert the servants. ''Is it a liberation you seek?''

''Yes. I am not fond of discussing matters in such a feminine place.'' Will glanced about, his discomfort irritating Jack beyond anything. ''Relief would be grand.''

''If I honour your wish, will you listen to me fully without the need to sigh so much? This matters to me.''

''Oh, brother, it matters to me too.'' Will was startled as a young maid entered the study without so much as a knock at the door.

Jack smiled warmly and Will assumed the two were familiar. ''Trudy, two brandies if you could please.''

''Yes, Mr. Dawson.'' The maid curtsied quickly before she left quickly with the door clicking closed behind her as she went.

''Well, out with it then.'' Will turned back to Jack once he was sure the hired staff was out of ears way.

Jack took a seat once more, smoothing out his hands against the wood. ''Rose believes to have seen a man, of grey hair, tall and slender. A Northern accent, too.''

''He spoke?''

''Yes. He said, ''compliments of Lord Hockley,'' Jack felt his jaw tighten. ''The words which were spoken to her.''

Again, the door opened without so much as a knock. Trudy entered, placing two fingers of warmed brandy on the desk in front of both men.

''Thank you.'' Jack nodded. ''How is she?''

''Asleep, Mr. Dawson. I must return.'' Trudy smiled, warmly.

''Of course.''

Will smiled pleasantly as she left, but as soon as the door clicked closed, his face contorted into horror.

''So, is there no formality in this household? It is almost running by the servants.''

Jack ignored the comment as he nursed his brandy and watched as Will took his right away, sipping it gently. It warmed his stomach, taking the edge away from the entire charade.

''Are you familiar with a man of that description?''

Will pressed his lips together. ''Perhaps not, but it isn't a thorough image of a man is it?'' He cast his mind back to the week before. Something seemed to connect together in his mind. Jack sensed the look upon Will's face, it was a familiar realisation of something.

''What is it?''

''Hockley hired a lackey. A man Hugh Harrington found to help Hockley with his matters.'' Will parted his lips, as though something was starting to make sense. ''Hugh informed Nathan himself, to rid himself of the burden before he married his little chit.''

Jack unsteadily got to his feet, the desk rattled as he went. There was some hope here. Something was about to be done about it. His heart was hammering in his chest.

"Well, then, let me speak to the man and none of this will get out of hand.'' Conversing with Nathan would ensure his facts were all correct and then Harrington was next in line. Things were falling into place right away.

''You cannot-'' Will placed a hand into the air, a sign to cease.

"A moment of his time and all will be well, I assure you." Jack ragged his coat across his shoulders. This would be sorted by the morning when he would put a bullet in the lackeys head before finding Hockley himself.

William snorted.

"Nathan is gone."

"I will await his return.''

He'd wait out by the street if he must. He would haste on horse himself rather than calling for the carriage.

"No, you misunderstand.'' Will told Jack, quietly. ''Nathan Hockley passed the same day as the stabbing.''

"Beg your pardon?"

"He has gone.'' Will placed his hands upon Jack's shoulders to steady him. His own tale would now have to be told. Jack would not be happy about it. The day of his visit should have been something which he had shared with his own brother, but with Rose's injury, the priorities shifted about.

''I saw him myself recently.'' Will shoved his brothers shoulders lightly back. Will's tone was light, with building tension.

Jack blinked several times, he was prepared to listen although he had a feeling, he wouldn't be agreeable to what he would in fact hear.

''Which is a good thing considering the mess he left behind."

Warning bells went off in Jack's head, but he remained impassive.

''Well, out with it, I don't have the rest of the day to sit here.''

Will ran his hands through his hair, to neaten it mostly, but he was also aware of Jack's stare, pinning him to the very spot.

''Sit down, Dawson." Will ordered curtly. He glared as Jack took a seat.


	19. Chapter 19

**Sorry for the lack of updates and responses, I do read them, I just do not get as much time to come on here at the moment due to having a toddler and expecting baby number 2 in a few weeks, all is steam ahead on the family side of things! I am looking to escape a few hours to get writing more chapters on this so please bare with me for a little while in order to get it all on track and completed!**

 **Thank you for the reviews, messages and favs, I do love getting feedback and will try to respond when able, so do not think I am a rude gal! Anyway, here's chapter nineteen!**

Chapter nineteen,

''I paid a visit this Tuesday last, to the Hockley residence.'' Will began, running his finger around the rim of his relief glass.

''Yes.'' Jack urged, his voice telling his brother to continue, as his own patience was wearing somewhat thin.

''I don't know what I expected to find, but what I did find was a very old and dying man.''

Jack noted his brother's features knot together, as though a pain was stirring. ''I'm sorry, I didn't realise our enemies father meant such a great deal to you.''

Sensing the irate tone, Will changed his own tone.

''Jack, I wanted to kill him, I told him so myself, but what good would that have done?''

''Some, perhaps.'' Jack shook his head in disbelief. ''Well, what did you do?''

Will sat in the wingback. He watched as Jack wore the carpet beneath his feet, taking the same steps repeatedly.

"Your frenzied pacing is driving me mad." Will glared as he took a seat, snapping at his brother. "I am going mad. I need to know where Hockley is. God only knows the ordeal has driven me…" He choked, his throat too tight to speak. Jack's normally stern features softened with sympathy.

"You mentioned previously the outriders of mine which you assigned to him are gone as well. It's a good sign. Perhaps they were able to follow and will report his whereabouts when the opportunity presents itself." Jack offered, hoping that it was indeed the case.

"Or else they are dead," Will retorted.

Jack began pacing again. Will leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers together. "I have agents checking all possible roads leading from Hockley's home and questioning everyone who lives near enough to have seen or heard anything from him since the day he disappeared. Information is bound to surface."

"Time is a luxury we don't have," Jack growled. "Go home. Wait for word."

"Your outriders may attempt to contact you. Perhaps they've already tried. You should return to your home. Keep yourself occupied. Pack and make preparations to leave."

''I will not leave her, Will. Never.'' Jack glared at him. ''What did you achieve by going to the Hockley's without feeling the need to include me on such a matter?'' He should have been seething, but there was something admirable of the way Will had taken matters into his own hands. That said, he didn't have a clue of what the repercussions could be, if any. Swinging between anger and proudness was not the time.

Will exhaled, sipping his relief. He still couldn't even believe what he was about to say himself.

''His fortune.''

Jack blinked. ''What?''

Will stood slowly, gaining his confidence. ''I have secured that the entire Hockley fortune now belongs to me. In my own name. Jon Sedgewick's son.'' He shook his head. He had imagined speaking the words aloud since the meeting of Nathan's lawyer and his own had taken place. Even saying them to himself, within his own head had done very little for him to believe it but, it was in fact true. He had done the absolute unthinkable. ''The ultimate revenge against the man who killed our father.''

Jack's nostrils flared, he wasn't sure if it was anger or absolute relief. He was stunned. Beyond words. When nothing came out of his mouth, Will smiled. He had truly smug written all over his own face, he could feel it.

''Are you happy with my choices, brother? I know the money doesn't mean a damned thing to you but it does to me.'' Will laughed, pitifully. ''Nathan announced the plan himself and I went along with it. He didn't trust him own son with the fortune and therefore wished for it to go to better use.''

''Incredible-''

''I should have felt a graverobber, a hideous man taking advantage of the aging and frail fool laying before me in the bed, but I felt as though I had finally done something right for once. I have hurt Hockley in the one place where it will severely wound him most. Without his money, he is simply a criminal. A dirty common thief whose reputation will die alongside him.''

''I am proud of what you have done, of the man you have become.'' Jack was absolutely aware of the danger which this would cause, but it didn't matter now, for they would have Hockley right where they wanted him. This was the key move to his surrender. ''How much?''

''Too much. Enough for us all to live on for the rest of our lives. For you to pay your men, to live comfortably, for us all.''

Jack laughed, shaking his head. ''I don't want a penny of it, Will. Give it to someone who will benefit greatly. Buy food and shelter for the hungry, don't feed the rich more money. It never ends well.''

''I don't intend to.'' Will agreed. ''I will plan for the use to be great, be powerful and for the bad which he has done to be rectified in some way.'' Between them, they could find a good use for the fortune which Hockley had left behind.

Jack stopped pacing, his feet rooted to the spot, standing before his brother. It was as though, at this very moment, they had joined as one in some way. The future, however dangerous, would be faced together, as brothers. The realisation seemed to hit both of them at once.

''You must go, return to my house, check for word for me if you will.'' Jack urged, taking slow breathes.

''Very well, but if you hear anything—"

"Anything at all, yes, I will send for you post-haste."

Drinking the rest of his relief, Will quickly dressed in his outerwear. Jack noted the change in his stance, how he suddenly held himself taller, prouder. His hand came atop his brothers' shoulder.

''You must include me in further rash decisions.''

Will nodded. ''Of course.''

''See if you can speak to Hugh Harrington for me, too. He seemed to believe that I am after the DeWitt fortune and nothing more.''

''Ridiculous.'' Will scoffed. ''Whatever has given him the prosperous idea?''

''Yes, I know. That is what he was conversing with Rose about seconds before the attack.'' Jack told him, with a deep v rooted between his eyes.

''Oh? For what purpose?''

''I can't answer that, for I don't know.''

Will exhaled, too much information had transpired this past thirty minutes and he was needing a breather to take it all in. Together, they had created something of a remarkable plan. As brothers, they would stand together, no matter what the outcome would be.

''Very well, I shall see what I can do my end of this. Just keep me abreast of things, too.''

''Yes, of course.''

Upstairs, Rose stared up at the canopy above her bed and attempted to find the fortitude within her to bear the pain of moving. She knew that Jack was capable of taking care of himself, but she also knew he would be worried about her and she could not allow him to fret unnecessarily. She was about to slip out of bed when the door from the gallery opened and Jack returned. Once again, her breath caught at the sight of him. He was beyond uncommon handsome, yes, but it was the absolute confidence with which he carried himself that she found most attractive. He strode inside with such a purpose, that she stopped moving altogether.

"No, my love, you must not move," Jack rasped. ''Or I will be forced to sit with you all times.'' A smile hovered, but she held it back. The man was something of a mother hen. She found it rather charming. It balanced him out in a way. She could tell she set him off kilter. It was a simple joy to tease him, knowing that she was able to penetrate beneath his skin, to go where no other woman ever had.

"Not much of a threat, when I would take that up gladly. But my doctor ordered for me to try at least. Laying stiffly is not helping me at all.''

A low grumble came from him. Jack shrugged out of his coat and returned to his spot on the bed where he had left her asleep that morning. She took note of how the stricture of his garments seemed to irritate him. Then she imagined him in only shirtsleeves and breeches on the deck of a magnificent ship with the wind through his hair, lifting it away from his handsome face, with the colour in his cheeks, flushed and alive. Just as she would be. They would travel, she decided in that moment. They would travel far and wide. His mouth lifted at the corner, as if he knew her thoughts.

"Are you not too weak?''

She nodded. He snorted. "Yes, but I need to try. I am not laying here all day long for the rest of my life.''

''Just a few days, love.'' He told her, calmly.

She shook her head, feeling the irritation grow within. She didn't want to be bedbound, she wished that none of this had happened but it had and now, she was completely frustrated with everything.

"I would not have gone had I anticipated danger," she argued, suddenly. ''I would never have gone outside to look for you, if I had known that any kind of man was waiting for me.'' While the outcome was heartrending, it gave her some hope that the consequences would be worth it, that comeuppance would come to all of those involved.

"Those who live as we do should always anticipate danger, Rose," he said softly, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. "Never lower your guard. For I will never let you out of my sight again."

As she struggled with her response to his gentleness, her gaze shifted to the door, seeking escape. She simply longed to be free of everything here; to run and to take Jack with her for shores unknown where the two of them could live out their lives together, without the need to care of prying eyes. She felt the need for them to be, to just have a normal and stable life with just the love between them and nothing else.

"Lord Sedgewick was here."

Her gaze flew back to meet his. Pale blue and fathomless. The man was an expert at keeping his thoughts to himself. She, however, was almost certain he could read her panic.

"Oh?"

"Hockley hasn't returned but he does believe that he may know the identity of your attacker if we can trace it back to a lackey Harrington hired for Hockley to take care of some business."

Rose winced inwardly.

"A lackey?'' she parroted. Jack leaned closer, his free hand lifting to brush across her cheek. He could not seem to stop touching her in some fashion, a foible she found vastly appealing. She had been taking care of herself for so long, it was lovely to feel cared for in this way. She would welcome his touch each time he caressed her.

"Yes, but don't worry yourself. Relax," he reminded softly. But there was something she sensed churning beneath the surface masculine perfection. More than mere unease with new territory. Until she knew what it was. So, she nodded to signify her promise to consider his request, then closed her eyes.

"I am truly weary." The left side of her body throbbed from her head to her hip. She sensed him lean closer, felt his breath brush across her lips. He was going to kiss her again, one of those light but utterly delicious melding's that made her blood thrum. Because she relished those kisses, she opened to him. He laughed softly, a throaty sound she adored.

"Can I trade a kiss for a secret?" he asked. She opened one eye.

"You put too much stock in your kisses."

His grin stole her breath.

"Perhaps you put too much stock in your secrets."

"Oh, Jack.'' She pulled upon his hand so tightly that her strength surprised him.

Moving slightly in an attempt to find a position of greater comfort, Rose whimpered as white-hot shards of agony pierced her left side. The next moment, strong hands were positioning her as carefully as possible.

"Thank you," she whispered. Firm lips brushed across hers. Her eyes opened and her heart ached at the concern she saw in Jack's beautiful eyes.

"It pains me to see you this way," he murmured, leaning over her with a lock of blonde draping over her face.

''I will be well in no time at all," she assured him. ''Please, tell me your secret as you help me to my feet.'' She clutched at the blankets, pushing them away from her as though they burned her skin. He knew that he should have told her not to be so stupid, to scold her but the sheer determination shone in her eyes and he knew that he couldn't refuse her the attempt at least. He had known a long while just how passionately stubborn she was, with a fire which would refuse to dampen even for him. He knew never to attempt to curb it, not only because he was in love with the spirit, but also, because he would never win against a woman like her.

She held out two clammy hands to him, he came to her, rounding the bed, taking her at the waist immediately.

''You will sit if you feel worse immediately.''

She nodded, feeling how his weight took all of her right away. She placed her hands around his neck, inhaling just how he smelled. The smell made her stomach twist. She loved him, all of him. She buried her face within the crook of his neck, pushing herself as far as she could go and simply allowed him to hold her weight as he wished to.

''Talk to me, tell me.'' She urged him. ''Take my mind away from this pain, my love.''

He hated the hurt which sounded in her voice and so he started to speak, anything to take her mind off the pain.

''Its Will.'' Jack told her, gently, as he helped her to the edge of the bed, wondering just how much she was ignoring the pain in her shoulder. He was careful. ''He managed to secure a deal with Nathan Hockley before he passed.'' He paused, letting that information settle in as she pushed herself to her feet, propelling herself into a standing position. It was like watching a new-born fawn walk.

''Oh?''

''Yes.'' Jack placed her feet on the floor, slowly and without a rash move. She stumbled but didn't fall. He kept his grip at her waist, letting go of her nightgown so that it fell to her feet in a whisper. ''Nathan signed over his fortune to my brother in a decision to cut Caledon out of his will. The entirety belongs to Will.''

A gasp escaped Rose as she clutched to Jack's shirt across his shoulders. It pulled, but he still stood tall and still as though her weight made no effect to his stance at all.

''For certain?''

''Yes. He is a broken man, already.''

Her body felt fluid like, as though she wasn't a solid object. Her pain subsided, the complete euphoria of been able to stand within his arms had taken over. Her hands clutched at his shirt, the two open buttons allowed a peek at his solid chest and the familiar butterflies broke flight within her stomach. A hesitant finger traced along the edge of his shirt, stopping as she caught the contact with his skin. A flicker of something shocked her finger, and she pulled back for a second as though she had been burned by fire. As she gasped, he placed his long index finger beneath her chin to raise it slightly so that her watery eyes met his. They were soft, glowing beautifully beneath the dim light of the single taper.

Oh, how he urged to crush his lips to hers and love her mouth with the exact same passion he had in previous weeks, but he resisted. She was weak, as fragile as a kitten and yet, she still ignored the exact same flame, as she had always adhered to.

''Slowly,'' he whispered, as if it was to himself as much as it was to her, ''easy.''

She nodded slightly, it made her dizzy. Jack adjusted his grip upon her waist, pulling her to him, not only to hold her up, using his strength but he was overwhelmingly cold without feeling just how close they hadn't been. As he traced his finger across her cheek and then downwards to her neck, she jolted without warning at the shivers. She winced through the sudden pain in her shoulder.

''Easy.'' He soothed once more. ''Perhaps we should get you back to bed.''

''No,'' she told him, defiantly, ''I have spent too long bedridden and away from you.''

It was true. The days apart had been torturous and almost felt like a form of punishment, one way or another. Emotions simmered just below the surface, threatening to erupt out of frustration. The night which they had spent together had opened a door both of them had never even been through before. The urge to not invite him into her bed once more was slowly killing her. What woman wouldn't want his touch upon her constantly when a man was as beautiful as he was. She felt a cripple; a complete invalid but still, she wouldn't feel a burden to him for she knew just how much she did love her.

''I'm going to touch you.'' He whispered, as a warning so that she wouldn't flinch. With one hand safely at her waist, he raised his left hand to her hair, running it slowly across her right shoulder, upwards and into the crook of her neck. She closed her eyes, allowing the moment to take over her entirely. His fingers ran up to her cheek, running across her chin and to her lips. That's when she forgot to breathe.

Her lips parted as her eyes opened. They adjusted to the dim light before finding his eyes. She was dizzy, suddenly drowning in them.

''Breathe, my love.''

She nodded, allowing oxygen into her lungs.

''You steal the air away from me.'' She told him. ''Something as natural as breathing, you make me cease instantly.''

A smile played upon the corner of his lips. His grip at her waist tightened, into an almost kneading as she clutched at his neck, her left-hand snaking beneath his shirt. The feeling of her fingers upon his bare skin was wonderful after what felt like so long without.

''I know, my love.'' He felt the tingles up his spine. She affected him the way a woman shouldn't, especially not before marriage, and definitely not in her condition. She weakened him in a way which a man was rarely made defenceless. Here, he was; a man so accustomed to his own company, to caring only for such small things in life. He tucked a curl away from her face. The dim taper illuminated her face in such a way that he, too was almost breathless. ''I love you, so much.'' He whispered into the silence.

If she was unsteady before, she was now. He had professed his love for her many times, but this was perhaps the sincerest of all. In the beautiful moment, her toes curled from the unabashed way he had spoken those words. If she had been well, she would have removed his shirt, kissed him silly and then ensured that he too, knew just how she returned those feelings for him.

A very quiet knock at Rose's door sounded and broke the incandescent moment. Rose was startled, relying on Jack to support her now heavy form. He knitted a tight frown upon his face, annoyed by the disturbance, but still, he kept his hand at her waist, lowering her onto the bed, easing her slowly and without the need to rush, even though the knock had sounded once more.

''A moment!'' Rose shouted; her voice shrill. It was the loudest she had sounded in days with pure annoyance evident. Jack smiled; her fire was returning a little.

Once she was settled upon the edge of the bed, Jack straightened out his collar and his shirt before proceeding to the door. Lady DeWitt was there, dressed still in her daywear of iridescent light grey.

''Oh, my lady,'' Jack bowed his head, slightly, unaware that it had been Rose's Mother at the door and tried to conceal the ardour which he had just shared with her young daughter. He glanced upwards to her eyes, to the tell-tale sign that tears had been shed.

''Mother?'' Rose croaked, as she tried to conceal the passionate exchange between herself and Jack just moments before.

''Yes.'' Ruth found her voice. She stepped inside the bedroom. Jack stood back, folding his arms across his chest, in both concern and considering his place inside the room.

The door clicked closed as a cloud of silence filled the air. Jack glanced between mother and daughter and suddenly felt his presence wasn't needed.

''I will leave you two alone, excuse me.''

''No, Jack.'' Rose held out a weak hand to stop him from making his egress. ''Stay.''

He glanced to Ruth, concern now flashing in his eyes. ''My Lady?''

Ruth nodded, a sign that his presence was accepted. ''Yes, you are to be in son in law soon. You will be a member of this family and your constant vigilance of my daughter since her wounding means a great deal to us.''

''I would be nowhere else, ma'am.''

In her hand, Ruth clutched a small square sheet of white paper to her stomach. It was straight, folded lengthways and held the bearer of some news which Jack knew would change the course of something. A hunch; but he was good at guessing such things after a lifetime of living through it.

''Whatever is the matter?'' Rose questioned, her eyebrows knitting together, sensing the utter dread of the next few moments. She looked between Jack and her Mother, with narrowed eyes and a dizzy head.

''There is some bad news.'' Ruth lifted her chin, directly addressing her daughter. ''Samantha Rowland has been killed this evening.''


	20. Chapter 20

_Hello all! Thank you for the patience with this story. I have come back to continue the story and even though I have no clue how to continue after having a baby and in this current isolation situation. I can only hope you guys are safe!_

 _Chapter twenty._

 _Mourning. Restlessness. Breathlessness. The days which followed the devastating news of Samantha Rowland's death were filled with grey, bleak clouds. Society fell into a state of quiet, for once, the beasts were silenced for just a few morbid days._

 _The air was thick and heavy. Outriders seemed to guard every move of every member of the Dewitt household, ensuring thorough safety._

 _Rose gazed sightlessly out the window as her stomach roiled. Certain she was about to cast up her accounts, Rose thrust open the door and stumbled down. The outriders moved to her side just as Jack appeared._

" _Sweet." He pulled her close. The heavy silk of his coat was cold from the night air, but inside she was far more chilled._

" _Don't be frightened. I will protect you."_

 _Rose gave a choked, half-mad laugh. The most pressing peril came from Jack himself. He was a man who thrived on reckless behaviour and lived for the thrill of the chase. He would forever be placing himself in jeopardy, because taking risks was ingrained in his nature. Cal... society...this life. It was all for her. The danger toward him had tripled, double that again. All for her._

 _He would continue to suffer whilst she was with him. They all would. People died around her, at a Hockley's hand._

 _She had to get away from them all. Far, far away..._

Hugh Harrington entered Lady Dewitt's offices a little past noon some days later. Sinking into the leather worn chair in front of the desk, he waited for acknowledgment.

''Lord Harrington.''

''Dawson.''

''Surprised to see you here,'' Jack dragged heavy feet across the plush rug to the opposite side of the study, to a cabinet which housed the relief, ''since you believe the Dewitt fortune is the true reason for my interest in Lady Dewitt's daughter.'' He said without preamble.

Grey eyes shot up. ''Is she well?'' He softened after a second. ''She speaks of our conversation?'' His eyes did nothing to hide the surprise that she would remember half of the words exchanged at the ball but still, the cat was out of the bag. Of course, Miss. Rose would reveal the contents of their private conversations. This man was her fiancé.

Jack shrugged, sinking into an opposite chair and ignoring the need to neck liberation at such an early hour, his fingertips ran across the brass tacks of the arms.

''By outward appearance.'' Other than that, he refused to say. The death of Samantha Rowland had consumed Rose for almost a week, although no longer bedridden, she mostly confined herself to one room accompanied by her mother. A sort of melancholia seemed to have taken her rife and Jack had taken it upon himself to rid of her the burdens. The woman he had met seemed to have been stored upon a shelf for the time being and he would ensure that she returned swiftly.

''Very well.''

''And you believe my intentions toward Miss DeWitt to be completely dishonourable?''

Lord Harrington pushed away from the massive desk. ''I am a man with honourable intentions, a man who has seen far too much wrongdoing. I am to be awed by morn.''

Jack smiled, diverting his eyes to the floor. ''You seek congratulations in the wrong person, my lord.''

''I do not wish for anything from you.''

He raised his brows. ''Then, pray, tell me why you feel the need to call upon me here, after making such accusations to Miss Rose at the ball?''

Lord Harrington sagged his shoulders in the most unpolite way. Narrowing his eyes, Jack sensed something about the man he had never fully trusted but something, right in this moment told him to listen.

''I have some information.''

''Well, my ears are open to you.'' A quick glance to the clock told him that lunch would be about served and that Rose would be with her Mother for another hour or so.

Lord Harrington released a deep breath. ''I know where Lord Hockley maybe hiding.''

''I see.'' If Jack was surprised, he didn't show an ounce of it. His steepled fingers were still, his body square and upright.

Lord Harrington stood, and stared out the window thoroughfare below. Framed by the green velvet of the curtains and the massive windows, he seemed smaller, more human. ''I am concerned for Lady Dewitt and her daughter. To approach her at such a crowded event is an act of desperation. I would never have considered Hockley to be so bold.''

''I was surprised as well,'' Jack admitted, ''frankly, I am afraid to leave her alone. The night of the wounding, there was any number of people who could have been with her.''

''So, that is the way is it?'' Lord Harrington sighed, ''the man has never lacked for boldness.''

Jack gritted his teeth, remembering vastly unpleasant encounters he'd had with Hockley over the years. He was never one to leave a job half done. Not knowing one's next move for the moment was unsettling, he was usually five steps ahead of another and while he intended to be very soon, and knew that Hockley had been stripped of his fortune, he needed to think quickly on his feet and all the while he needed Rose to remain protected. She had suffered enough.

''We do we tolerate him?'' Harrington bashed his fists upon the arm of the chair.

''A reasonable question. I've often considered the alternative many times, as has my brother. However, he is so popular I am afraid his disappearance might make him a martyr. There are things which cannot become public knowledge, we cannot reveal it, even to justify a criminal's death.''

''Christ sakes.'' Lord Harrington stood.

''It chafes, Hugh, I know. But a public trial and hanging will do much to dispel his myth.''

''You hope.'' He began to pace. ''Hockley has a shipping business that very few people know of, he also has the help of a lackey. One I may know the name of. They could be working together in order to keep incognito and yet business still be tended to here in London.''

It would make sense. Jack waited to see if Lord Harrington had finished. The relief washed about his face seemed to be genuine.

''This was a burden to you?''

''Yes.''

''Why would you tell me this information? I assumed you to be close to Hockley.''

Lord Harrington sucked in his breath, not wanting to admit he disliked his close association with Hockley.

''Once, I would have called him a friend.'' His pain was his own and deeply personal. He disliked being asked about it. "Do you think me incapable of separating my personal life from my professional one?" Lord Harrington sighed and shook his head.

"Very well. I won't pry."

Jack began to tap his fingertips together.

''Mr. Dawson, I have respect for you. For Miss. Rose. I care for her, and I urged Hockley to not become so involved with her, to not play with her as though she was prey to his predator.'' His eyes were full of grim determination. ''The truth is, I am to marry by morning and I wish to do so with a clear conscious.''

''And do you feel unburdened?''

''Almost.''

''Go on.'' Jack prompted, wondering what could possibly be added.

Hugh stopped pacing and turned so swiftly that the tails of his coat whipped about his thighs. ''I believe it to be the lackey who stabbed Rose. Rumours have been rife of features. He was a tall and sinewy man with a weathered face that had seen too many hours on the deck of a ship.'' Lord Harrington began, ''around half a century of age, everything about him was practical, nothing superfluous, from his manner of speaking to his physical build. He presented an intimidating presence to those who conversed with him although none will step forward to confirm what was said.''

Jack stood with both hands clasped behind his back. The shakes had started once more, but he tried to conceal the rattle of his body. Rage. Anger. Frustration. This was the only lead and seemingly the best one. He steadied his breathing. He stored the descriptions aptly and knew that an image had formed already in his head. One of those Society cretins would step forward with something, of that he was sure. Money was the staple offering in exchange for information.

''The information is appreciated, my Lord.''

He watched Hugh Harrington, the somber tones of his garments and wig were matched by his grim features.

''I am pardoned from any further accusations?'' The hope within his voice was almost like that of a child.

''Yes, I am deeply sorry for any inconveniences.''

Hugh shook his head, grimly. ''No, I feel I kept this to myself too long.'' He couldn't quite put his finger on the reasoning but the sated feeling which sat within his stomach told him, this had been the right thing.

''I wish you well my lord, in your match. Be happy.''

''That means a great deal to me.'' He paused. ''What of Rose? She needs to be safe.''

''She is safest with me. For your own safety, remain on a honeymoon a month, perhaps longer.''

Hugh nodded. ''I intend to.'' There was no way he would take chances on his new bride to be exposed to such a mess.

''I admit, when you first walked into my office, I was at a loss of what would become of the meeting.''

Hugh shook his head and gave a wry, humourless laugh. ''Indeed, one has to take an initiative.''

''Hockley must never know you came to me, today.''

''No, I will not tell him. Nor will I associate with the man again for as long as I shall live.'' Hugh spun on his heel and moved towards the door. ''I must go, take care of Miss. Rose.''

''I won't leave her in the care of another.''

Hugh nodded.

''Before you leave, you mentioned that there were rumours, of a possible moniker for this lackey.''

Hugh parted his lips. He could remember that much at least from the rumours. ''Lovejoy. Spicer Lovejoy. An ex-Pinkerton.''

The flare in Jack's nostrils didn't go unnoticed by Hugh as he made his egress. As he went, the door slammed behind him.

Left alone with his own thoughts, was a dangerous situation for Jack Dawson. The air was filled with such a deep, dark emotion that he fought even more to neck relief. A glance at the clock told him that he needed to get some air, perhaps take a ride out to the fields. Rose would be taking lunch with her mother for a while longer and he was needed to clear his own head before the time came to see her again. There was information which he needed to tick over and then later that evening, a meeting with his brother would be needed in order to proceed with the next steps.

The meeting with Harrington had indeed turned out to be enlightening in many ways, but it also caused a deeper-rooted hatred of his enemy and a darker spiral of thoughts.

He called for his horse to be prepared and within fifteen minutes, he mounted it and headed straight out for the vast empty space of the field. It was acres in length, enough to get lost in, but he knew the span like the back of his hand due to spending endless time working there. As the wind whipped his hair about his face, he rode out the anger, shouting into the emptiness and galloping to an unknown destination.

Just over an hour later, Sedgewick arrived at the DeWitt mansion. He was immediately shown to the study where he forced himself to sit rather than pace in agitation. When the door opened behind him, he stood and turned with a charming smile for Rose, only to scowl when he faced her damned maid.

''Lord Sedgewick,'' came the tense greeting.

''Miss.''

''What do you want?''

Lord Sedgewick blinked then released a frustrated breath. Two steps forward and one back. This damned household **was** run by the hired staff. That **had** to change. ''The same thing which I requested upon arrival. I wish to speak to Rose, alone.''

''She does not wish to speak with you. In fact, she left specific instructions that you were to only speak with your brother.''

''A moment of her time and all will be well, that I assure you.'' Sedgewick snorted. It was ridiculous, his agitation was increasing. If he wished to speak with his brother then he would have requested as much.

''Rose is gone.'' Trudy raised her voice, the shrill of it sounding through the study.

Sedgewick exhaled. A bloody back hand was what the woman needed in order to put her in place! ''Well, then I will await her return if you do not mind.'' He would wait in the street if need be. He had to converse with her before Dawson did.

''No, you misunderstood. She has left town.''

Sedgewick blinked several times. ''Beg your pardon?''

''She's gone. Packed up. Left. She came to her senses and realised what a danger it is for her to be here.''

''She said that?''

''Well,'' Trudy hedged, ''I didn't speak with her directly, but Rose mentioned her desire to leave London to another abigail this morning, although she left without the aid of one.''

Something didn't quite add up straight.

''She left quite a mess behind.''

Warning bells rang in Sedgewick's head. ''Is my brother aware of this?''

''We have sent riders out but no one has known of his whereabouts since noon after Lord Harrington left.''

''Harrington?'' Sedgewick recoiled. What could Hockley's loyal friend and one of the suspects of the stabbing doing allowed in the house.

''Yes, my lord.''

Sedgewick allowed himself a moment of thought, feeling the pretty maid's disapproving eyes upon his face. One had to think rational. It seemed everything had fallen apart in just less than an afternoon. His head pounded momentarily.

''Is Lady DeWitt aware of this?''

Trudy gently shook her head. ''Lady DeWitt left just after noon alone for respite at Lord Wellington's Essex beach house. She left a note for both her daughter and Mr. Dawson.''

''This is ridiculous. The poor girl is supposed to be watched!'' He barked. ''She left a mess you stated?''

One of the things Sedgewick did learn of Miss. Rose was that she was fastidiously tidy. Sedgewick strode toward the door.

''Yes, my lord.'' Trudy nodded. ''Quite an erratic one.''

''Nothing else mentioned?''

She shook her head. ''She needed the distance. Once she has calmed and sent word, I will go after her if she does not return on her own.'' Trudy tried to keep the calm. ''Once Mr. Dawson is aware I am sure there will be outriders searching every possible route. We shall find her.''

''Yes, before or after Hockley does?'' Sedgwick fired. ''Show me her rooms.''

Trudy stopped in her tracks. ''Now, see here, I am not lying to you. She has gone. I will see to her, as I always have.''

''I will locate her boudoir myself, if I must.'' Sedgewick warned.

With a great deal of grumbling, cursing and complaining, Trudy led him upstairs to Rose's suite of rooms. Sedgewick's gaze lifted from the rugs which were wildly askew and strewn with crushed flowers, to the armoire doors which were flung open and the contents scattered. Drawers were pulled out and the bed linens tossed about in a scene that came straight out of a nightmare.

''Seems she was in a high temper,'' Trudy said sheepishly.

''So, it does appear.'' Sedgewick kept his face impassive, but inside his gut was clenched tight. He turned to the blonde abigail who flitted about the mess. ''How many of her garments did she take with her?''

The girl dipped a quick curtsy and replied, ''None that I can tell milord. But I am not finished yet.''

Sedgewick wouldn't wait to find out. ''Did she say anything of import to you?''

''Now, here, no need to bark at the poor chit,'' Trudy snapped.

Sedgwick raised a hand for silence and pinned the servant with his stare.

"Only that she was restless, milord, and eager to travel. She sent me into town on an errand and left while I was gone. ''

"Has she travelled without an abigail often?" The girl gave a jerky shake of her head, her timid eyes meeting Trudy's. "It's the first time, milord."

"See how eager she was to flee?" Trudy asked grimly. But Sedgewick paid her no mind. This was not the scene of a flared temper. Rose's room had been ransacked. And she was missing. Goddamn his brother for leaving her unattended; the girl was not just a flight risk but also her life was hanging in the balance.

''I shall go locate my brother myself, send a word to Lady DeWitt, perhaps she would know of any place where Rose would go.''

As Sedgwick was about to leave, Jack burst through the open doors, his hair damp and his eyes fuelled with anger.

For the all too brief ride back to his home Jack had felt productive, but the moment he arrived and discovered nothing new had been reported, his near ferocious agitation returned in full measure. With those in residence, he could not give vent to his feelings, and was forced instead to retreat from their curious eyes.

''Nothing? No word.''

''Leave out of this brother.'' Jack warned, his temper obvious. ''Go home and wait for word on Hockley. Trudy prepare my things.''

Sedgwick exhaled in frustration. ''Rose hasn't run, she is missing.''

Jack dismissed his brother with a flick of his wrist. He prowled the lengths of his galleries in his shirtsleeves, his skin damp with sweat, his heart racing as if he were running. Constant rubbing at the back of his neck left the skin raw, but he couldn't stop. The pictures in his mind … torturous thoughts of Rose needing him … hurting … afraid … His head fell back on a groan of pure anguish. He couldn't bear it. He wanted to yell, to snarl, to tear something apart. An hour passed. And then another. Finally, he could take the waiting no more. Jack returned to his room, shrugged into his coats, and moved to the staircase, his intent to hunt Hockley down. The pressure of his knife sheathed in his boot fueled his bloodlust. If Rose were harmed in any way there would be no mercy. Halfway down the stairs, he spotted his butler at the door and a moment later it opened, revealing one of the outriders. Covered in dust from his rapid return, the man waited in the foyer and bowed as Jack's boot hit the marble floor.

"Where is she?"

"On the way to Essex, sir." Jack froze. Ravensend . ''Whatever is there?''

''Seat of her great grandfather.'' Trudy explained, as it fell into place. ''Her mother is also on her way to the Duke of Wellingtons' beach home nearby.''

Rose **was** running. Damn her. He grabbed his packed valise, and turned to Paul, his outrider, who stood in the doorway of the study.

"I will be in Essex."

"Is everything all right?" Paul asked.

"It will be shortly."

Within moments, Jack was on the road.

The wheels of the Dawson travel coach crunched through the gravel on the final approach to Ravensend Manor before reaching the cobblestones that lined the circular driveway. The moon was high, its soft glow lighting the large manse and the small cottage beyond. Jack stepped down wearily and ordered his men to the livery. Turning away from the main house, he took rapid strides toward the cliff edge where the guesthouse and Rose waited. He'd make his presence known to the duke in the morning. The small residence was dark when he entered through the kitchen. He closed the door quietly, shutting out the rhythmic roar of the waves that battered the coast just a few yards away. Making his way through the house in darkness, Jack checked every bedroom until he found Rose. Leaving his valise on the floor by the door, Jack undressed silently and crawled into the bed next to her. She stirred at the feel of his cold skin beside hers.

"Jack," she murmured, still fast asleep. She spooned into his chest, unconsciously sharing her warmth. Despite his anger and frustration, he snuggled against her. Her trust while sleeping was telling. She had become accustomed to spending the nights next to him during the short duration of their affair. He was still furious with her for running away, but his relief in finding her well and out of danger was foremost on his mind. Never again would he go through this torment. There could be no doubt that she was his. Not in his mind, or hers. Exhausted by worry, he buried his face in the sweetly scented curve of her shoulder and fell asleep. It was his safe place right there, amongst the sheets and his Rose.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter twenty-one**

Rose woke and burrowed deeper into the warmth of the bed. Slowly rising to consciousness, she stretched out fully, her legs brushing along Jack's hair-dusted calf. With a sudden flare of awareness, she sat upright and shot a startled glance at the pillow beside her. Jack slept peacefully on his stomach, the sheet and counterpane straddling his hips, leaving his muscular back exposed. She jumped out of the bed as if it were on fire. His eyes opened sleepily, his lips curving in a languid smile, and then he fell back asleep, obviously finding her angered surprise to be of no danger to him.

Grabbing her clothes, Rose retreated to the next room to dress, wondering how he'd found her so quickly. She'd deliberately avoided any of her own family holdings so that it would be difficult, if not impossible to locate her. Not many knew of her Mother's grandfather's existence. But Jack had found her before even a day had passed. It was as though she was not allowed to have time to be away from the circus which surrounded her entire existence. A woman needed time to think, to process ones feelings.

Furious and flustered at finding him in her bed, Rose left the house and made her way to the roped path on the cliffs that led to the beach below. She picked her way carefully down the somewhat steep and rocky decline. The cliff rose some distance above the shore and Rose ignored the stunning view in favor of studying the ground at her feet. She didn't mind the concentration it took. Instead she relished the temporary distraction from her confusion. Finally reaching the beach, she dropped onto the damp sand and hugged her knees to her chest. She prayed for the sound of the waves lapping on the beach to soothe her. For her mind to be taken away, on another adventure away from her own world. Just months before, she would be able to easily open a book at a page and become lost in the poetry, in the words of another place and time which existed purely in her own mind and yet, now, it seemed the only thing which she was capable of allowing to consume her mind was him.

She vividly recalled the first moment she'd laid eyes on Jack Dawson. She remembered how her breath had caught in her throat and how hot her skin had suddenly become, how her breathing and heart rate had quickened until she thought she might swoon. Those had not been singular reactions. She had felt them many times since then and even just that morning when he had smiled at her, all sleep-tousled masculine beauty. She couldn't live like that, couldn't see how anyone could live consumed by a lust that seemed insatiable. Unschooled as she was, she hadn't known a body could crave the touch of another the way it did food or air. It wasn't just the touch of his, or a single look, it was the conversations which they had together. The way he promised her things, she trusted him so easily and with her entire life.

He was to marry her. To consume her more. To leave her breathless every single day of her life. Her life had become dangerous; almost like a plot within a book to kill the heroine. She was the 'damsel'. He was the hero on the white horse. She laughed at her own utter foolishness. One man tried to kill her, another wished to marry her. Hockley was the one who had almost become her husband and yet, he was nowhere to be seen in this entire mess. Was that the ultimate danger? The unknown whereabouts of the scandalous being?

Tilting her head, Rose closed her eyes and rested her cheek against her knees. Why couldn't Jack simply stay away? Running had been the best idea, there would have been no evidence of her whereabouts. Samantha Rowland's death had shaken her. She had not yet shed a tear for her friend or the babe which she had carried. There had been nothing but utter grief as well as the sheer, all-consuming spell which Jack Dawson had placed her under. Instead, she had wept for his safety. Waited for him to return to her, fearing each and every time he left her side. He would return, brutally kissing her lips as though it would be the last time. Bubbling beneath the surface had been the absolute instinctual urge to place her hands beneath his shirts and allow him to lead her to lay beneath him once more. In times of need, her love for him had multiplied. The animal sense within her seemed to come alive. Literally everything about him intoxicated her, brainwashed her and made her believe that he was the one who she was meant to live her life with.

She was angry. At herself. At Jack. At all involved. She had come here to collect her thoughts and to remain incognito for just a little while until the charade died down. It was too much to endure and it would only be so soon before her own mother would be hurt. Rose had already been impaled. The truth was, she knew deep down the wound wasn't intended to kill her, just to wound. To scare. To use her as almost bait to get to Dawson. It had riled him. He had stronger intentions than before to stake a dagger into Hockley's heart. Jack Dawson would come to harm; Rose knew that much. Staying well away from him was the only answer. The voice of reason had spoken to her for days on end, convincing her and now she had finally seen sense. They would have to stay away from each other.

The thought was unsettling, making her stomach feel sensitive and her shaking palms to tremble even more but what was the alternative? For all who she loved to die? To be murdered before her eyes. She loved Jack, so much, which was why she had to let him go. To live.

Jack paused on the small porch and took in his surroundings. The bite of the salty morning air was sharp. He wondered if Rose had collected a wrap before venturing out. To say she'd looked horrified to discover him in her bed would be an understatement. Knowing her as he did, he suspected she'd run out without forethought. Where the devil had she gone? Why had she gone? He had some sneaky suspicions; he had heard of how hot headed and impulsive she was. How she feared her own feelings and the danger which she had been in. To him, none of that had mattered.

"She's gone down to the beach, Dawson," came a dry tone to his left. Jack turned his head to greet the Duke of Ravensend, Ruth's grandfather.

"Your Grace." He dipped his head in a bow. "It was my intent to present myself this morn and explain my presence. I trust you don't find my stay an imposition."

The duke led a black stallion by the reins and came to a halt directly before him. ''She has fallen for you. For now. Once she's finished with you? Hodgeham, perhaps? Or Stanton again? A younger one, I'm certain. She's as wild as this brute." The duke gestured to his horse. Jack grit his teeth. "Stanton is a friend in the chastest sense of the word and Hodgeham …"

He snorted in disgust. "Hodgeham couldn't manage her."

"And you can?"

"Better than any other man."

"You should marry her then. Or perhaps that's your intent. Either you or some other poor chap. Hockley?''

"She has no wish to marry him.''

"She will," Ravensend said with a confident nod. ''If not him, she will marry a man of title. She has no children. When she's of the mind, she'll pick someone. Perhaps with more than just his seed to offer."

Jack came to an abrupt stop. Eldridge, William, and now Ravensend. He'd be damned if another individual meddled in his affairs. The aging Duke's face was leathered, his attire almost eight decades old and yet, the senselessness which came from his mouth was tosh. Whatever happened to a man growing wise with the wisdom which the world imparted on a person. For Christ's Sakes, what did this old coot know of any of their situations aside from the tittle tattle which Society fed back to the Coast?

"Pardon me, Your Grace." He spun on the heel of his boot and made rapid strides toward the roped walk. He would put a stop to all their intrusions once and for all. The words of others raced through his mind as he followed the path. His anger caused his feet to pound the floor louder than he cared for. The wind was cool against his face, but it did nothing to calm his rapid breathing. What was the opinion of others? Why ever could he not marry the woman he loved for his love was pure, even if his blood wasn't. That had not mattered to either of them just weeks before, so what now? He should have married her then to ensure that any sort of backing down couldn't be done. His feet pounded, his head taking him out to the side where he pictured Rose to be. He went with a purpose, as he always had when it come to her. His body was heavy, restless and his hands curled into fists by his sides as though he would be ready to burst at any given moment.

Rose prowled the coastline restlessly, picking up small pebbles and stones along the way. She tossed them over the water, trying to skip them and failing miserably. Trudy had once spent an entire afternoon attempting to teach her how to skip rocks. Although she'd never acquired the skill, the repetitive swing of her arm was calming. The music of the English coastline—the lapping waves and the cries of seagulls— brought her a measure of peace from her fevered thoughts. "A calm surface is required, love," came the deeply luxurious voice from behind her.

With shoulders squared, she turned to face her tormenter. Dressed casually in a worn sweater and wool breeches, Jack had never looked more virile, the roughness of his edges unblunted by any social veneer. His hair was tied back at his nape, but the salty breeze tugged the silken strands free and blew them softly across his handsome face. Just looking at him made her feel like crying.

"You shouldn't have come," she told him.

"I had no choice."

"Yes, you did. If you had any sense you would allow this …" She gestured wildly. "… thing between us to die out gracefully, instead of dragging it out to its inevitable bad end."

"Damn you." A muscle in his jaw ticked as he took a step toward her. ''Damn you to hell for throwing away what exists between us as if it does not signify. Risking your life—" Her hands clenched into fists at his wounded tone.

"I took the outriders with me at least some of the way. We did lose them."

"The only bit of sense you've shown since I met you."

"You are a bully! You have been from the first. Seducing, scheming, and manipulating me however you wish. Go back to London, be Lord Sedgewick's brother, and find another woman's life to ruin. You cannot love me. You cannot!"

Turning from him, Rose stalked toward the cliffs. Jack caught her arm as she attempted to pass, pulling her to a stop. She struggled with a frightened cry, alarmed by the possessiveness of his gaze.

"I was content before you came along. My life was simple and orderly. I want that back. I don't want you." Her eyes were lined with unshed tears. Here was the tight nip of pain which he had so often heard she was capable of causing.

He thrust her away with such a force that she stumbled.

"Regardless, you have me."

She hurried toward the rope-lined path.

''I shall leave."

"Craven," he drawled after her.

Eyes wide, Rose turned to face him again. Like the time he'd asked her to dance, his sapphire eyes sparkled with challenge. This time though, she would not be goaded into acting foolishly.

"Perhaps," she admitted, lifting her chin. "You frighten me. Your determination, your recklessness, your passion. Everything about you scares the wits from me. It's not how I wish to live my life."

His chest expanded on a deep breath. Behind him the waves continued to beat upon the shore, the relentless driving rhythm.

''You and I suit."

She swallowed hard, her stomach roiling. "Physically, perhaps. But lust fades. In no time at all you'll grow weary of a wife and seek your pleasures elsewhere."

"If you think such a thing of me, then why have I not touched you since that first time. It was you with lingering hands.''

Furious, she grabbed handfuls of sand and threw them at his chest.

"Go to hell!"

He laughed, shaking out his sweater with maddening nonchalance. "You possess me.''

Rose searched his face, looking for deceit and found nothing but cool impassivity. His face, so breathtaking, revealed nothing of his thoughts. The determined line of his jaw, however, was achingly familiar.

''Is that so?''

''Yes, you know as much. Or you wouldn't have ran.''

''Excuse me?''

''You ran away out of fear. Fear of Hockley, of his intentions, of your feelings.''

''And you know so much of me, do you?'' She called, her free curls whipping about her face in the wind.

''Yes, I know all of you.'' He told her calmly. His voice was soft, as soothing as the waves which lapped beautifully against the sandy beach. He was almost a lullaby, calming a young child to sleep. The flush of his cheeks with the wind caused his face to be all the more handsome. Was the possible? He was so still, so unnerved.

''There is little danger for you around here."

"True," he admitted. "But perhaps I can make the rest of your life so pleasant that my work will be of less consequence."

"Impossible!" She went to turn but his voice called her back.

"A fortnight," he urged. "It's all I ask. You owe me that much, at least."

"No." The gleam in his eye could not be mistaken. "I know what you want."

Jack met her gaze squarely. "I won't touch you. I swear it."

"You lie." His brow rose.

"You doubt I can restrain myself? I shared a bed with you last night and didn't make love to you. I assure you; I have control over my baser needs." Rose chewed her lower lip, weighing her options. To be free of him forever. To have the freedom of her own head, her thoughts and to never need a man in such a way again.

"You will find another room?" she asked.

"Yes."

"You promise not to make any advances?" Her voice was like that of a child, knowing full well that it was she who would be the harder one to curb the attraction.

''I promise." His mouth curved wickedly. "When you want me, iIam yours.''

She bristled at his apparent arrogance.

"What do you hope to accomplish by this?"

He came toward her and when he spoke, his voice was tender.

"We already know you enjoy me, in your life and in your bed. I intend to prove you will enjoy having me in the rest of your life as well. I'm not always so tiresome. In fact, some would say I'm quite pleasant."

"Why me?" she asked plaintively, her hand sheltering her racing heart.

"Why marriage?" Jack shrugged. '''The time is right' would be the simplest answer. I enjoy your company, despite how often you are obstinate and disagreeable. I love your fire, your wit, your beauty and just how damned stubborn you are. No man has ever proved their worth to you. I walked into your life, perhaps assuming that I should be allowed a place as your husband when we both know of your past. I intend to show you just how little of a bastard I am." When she shook her head, he frowned. "You said yes once before."

"That was before I knew about the true dangers."

His tone deepened, became cajoling. "Don't you wish to manage your own household? Wouldn't you like to have children? Build a family? Surely you don't wish to be alone forever."

Startled, she stared at him with wide eyes. Jack Dawson discussing children? The longing that washed over her so unexpectedly scared her to death. The tiny nick in her pit of her stomach urged her to lean forward and to take such an offer but her feet remain rooted to the very spot of sand.

"You want an heir?'' She looked away to hide her reaction.

''There is no heir. I am nothing, remember. I want you.'' Her eyes flew to meet his again. Flustered by his nearness and his determination, Rose turned toward the path in the cliffs.

"Do we have an agreement?" he called after her, remaining behind.

"Yes," she threw over her shoulder, her voice carried by the wind.

"A fortnight, then you are out of my life."

His satisfaction was a palpable thing and she ran from it.

Rose reached the top of the cliff and fell to her knees. Marriage. The word choked her throat and made her dizzy, leaving her panting for air like a swimmer too long under water. Why was that so scary now? It was as though before she had been under some great spell which she had just woken up from and was now seeing some sort of sense. His wife. She would be his wife forever.

Jack's will was a force to be reckoned with. What the devil was she to do now that he'd set his mind on marriage? He was dangerous. He would bring danger to her. To her family. To any children which they may conceive. Lifting her head, she looked toward the livery with aching longing. It would be such a relief to go, to leave the turmoil behind. But she discarded the idea. Jack would come for her, he would track her down as long as she still wanted him. And no matter how hard she tried, she was unable to hide the depth and breadth of her attraction. Therefore, the only way to be rid of his attentions was to accept the bargain he offered. Jack would have to end his pursuit of his own accord. There was no other way the obstinate man would quit. Wearily resolved, Rose stood and made her way toward the guesthouse. She would have to move carefully. He knew her too well. The slightest intimation that she was uneasy and he would pounce, pressing his advantage with his customary ruthlessness, to her anyway. In reality, she knew just how much he loved her. She would have to be relaxed and indifferent. It was the only solution. Satisfied she had a reasonable plan of action; she quickened her pace.

Meanwhile, Jack lingered on discussion. In two days, something inside Rose had flipped. Switched. Had a discussion with her mother ensured her escape to the sea? Lady DeWitt sat comfortably just a mere mile or so away at Lord Wellington's beach house perhaps blissfully unaware of her daughter's turmoil.

Jack sighed. He would have to woo her like a gentleman, something he'd never managed even the first time. But should he succeed, he would thwart Hockley's plan to replace him as her husband and prove to one and all that Rose was his. There would be no doubt. Marriage. He shuddered. It had finally happened. The woman had driven him insane. He had finally fallen in love. It was cruel and he was undeserving of the woman. Life without her would be easier, carefree and calm. He could live in relative peace, take women into his bed as he saw fit and then toss them out when the morning frost crept in. They would remain nameless and as meaningless as the others had. That was the life which he had led for as long as he remembered. It was nothing. He had been nothing. His life had been empty, lonely, boring...nothing.

She gave him purpose and so he would fight to live. Or to die. For her.


End file.
